What I Wished For
by thimbles
Summary: Bella and Jacob's marriage isn't what either anticipated. Bella's battling depression and seeks escape in the music she surrounds herself. When she meets her favourite artist, Edward Cullen, the pair strike up an instant friendship. AH. BxJ, eventual BxE.
1. Prologue EPOV

**Please be aware, this story contains themes of domestic abuse, non-romantic sex, depression, and character death.**

**Please read with caution. PM me if you have any questions.**

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><p>Prologue<p>

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><p>"Bella, come on sweetheart, let me in."<p>

"No, Edward. No. Please, please leave me alone. Please. I can't do this. It's not right."

"Darlin', it's been six months. Please let me in, love. I've missed you terribly."

I've been on the road for nearly five of the last six months; and have been trying to get Bella to see me for the last six weeks. She's continually made excuses and even flat out refused to see me. I miss her terribly, which is why I'm now pounding on her apartment door at nine o'clock on a Saturday morning. I have no intention of leaving until she lets me in. I'll sleep out here for a week if I have to. I will see her.

"I can't. It's not right. It's not right."

"Love, what's not right? Talk to me." _Please._

"_I'm_ not right. I'm an awful, awful person. I-I'm disgusting."

"Sweetheart, you know that's not true. Come on, please, Bella. At least open the door."

"I can't. I can't. I can't see you."

I'm thoroughly confused about what it is Bella's talking about. I don't understand why she won't see me, and I'm hurt. I don't understand why she's decided seeing me is "wrong" or something she shouldn't—or can't—do. I need an explanation, and I'm not leaving with out one.

"Bella, honey, I'm not going to leave. I'm staying here until you let me in. If you really don't want to see me anymore, if you don't want to be friends any more, then I'll accept that, but you have to say it to my face."

It breaks my heart to say this. I love Bella and have for years, but if she doesn't want me around, well, I'll do anything for her.

There is silence, except for a few soft sniffles on the other side of the door. After a minute, though, I hear her fiddling with the locks and I breathe a small sigh of relief.

The door is flung open, and my relief vanishes. I barely recognise my best friend. She has lost a disturbing amount of weight, and her pale face is gaunt and tear-streaked. Her long, dark hair is lifeless and dull, and her eyes, which used to sparkle and dance so beautifully, are red-rimmed and empty. I curse myself silently. I should have stayed when she sent me away.

She insisted I go, promised she would be fine, but I should have trusted my gut feeling.

There is nothing 'fine' about this girl, this shadow of my best friend, who stands before me.

Without thinking, I draw her into my arms, desperate to soothe her. She feels so insubstantial in my arms, and I feel tears start to collect in my eyes as she fights my embrace. I'm stronger than she is, and I hold her carefully until she stops fighting and sags against me, sobs wracking her tiny body.

She continues to cry as I manoeuvre us inside the door, and I scoop her up into my arms as I walk across the tiny space and settle myself on the chocolate leather couch.

Bella no longer fights me, instead she is clinging to my shirt with a ferocity that surprises me, given her weakened state. She continues to weep, and I feel my shirt become damp with her bitter tears. I'm openly crying too, completely overwhelmed by the situation, and the distressing changes in the girl I care for so deeply.

We sit, Bella curled on my lap, interminably. It may be a few hours, it may be a few days, before her sobs become sniffles, and then there is quiet.

She falls asleep, her fists clenched in my shirt, exhausted by her outpouring of emotion. I stroke her hair as she sleeps, my mind a mess as I struggle to comprehend what is happening to my Bella.

When her eyes flutter open a few hours later, I'm still stroking her hair. She looks up at me, her smile gentle. She takes my breath away, but then, she always has.

"Edward," she whispers, "I miss you."

"I've missed you too, sweetheart."

At the sound of my voice, she stiffens and pushes herself upright. "You're here."

"I'm here."

"No. I can't see you. It's wrong."

_This again?_ I'm hurt and frustrated.

"Bella, stop. Why is it wrong to see me? We've been friends for years. Why, _now_, is it so wrong for you to see me?" I need an explanation from her.

She looks at me, and I can see the conflict in her eyes.

"Why don't you want to see me anymore?"

"I can't."

"That's not good enough, Bella. You need to tell me the truth, love."

Her eyes flash—she knows I'm targeting her weakness. We've always been honest with each other, and she knows I deserve the truth.

"Don't you understand, Edward? Don't you get it? I'm disgusting. I basically wished him away. And now he's gone. And it's my fault. I wanted it."

I'm even more perplexed.

"Jacob's death was an accident. No one was at fault. I don't understand what you're trying to say."

Bella stands up and backs away from me.

"Fine. You want the truth; here's the truth. You'll wish you never asked." She's shouting now, and I don't understand her sudden anger.

"The truth is I love you. I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you for years. I loved YOU when he was alive. I fantasized about being with YOU, even when he was alive. And now he's dead. And I'm disgusting, because I WANTED YOU. I wanted to be free of him and now he's gone and it's all my fault because I WISHED HIM AWAY." She draws in a shaky breath.

"He's gone. HE'S GONE. And I wanted him gone. But I didn't want him to DIE, Edward. I loved him, but I wanted you and now look what I've done."

She looks at me, her cheeks pink, her dark eyes wary.

I'm frozen, stunned. My mind scrambles to fit the pieces of this puzzle together.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Edward," she whispers.

Before I've managed to say a word, she's gone.

The bathroom door slams shut. The lock clicks into place.


	2. April 2010

Chapter One: April 2010

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><p><strong>AN: This story will deal with depression and emotional abuse. If you're sensitive to these themes, please read with caution.**

**This is my first ever fanfic, so if you could spare a couple of minutes to let me know how I'm doing, I'd REALLY appreciate it! **

**Shell x**

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><p>I fell in love with Edward Cullen's music about a month before I married Jacob Black.<p>

I stumbled across it when I was downloading something or other, maybe it was Laura Marling, I can't really remember. The recommendation that I might also like Edward's music is probably the only good thing to ever come out of that ridiculous iTunes Genius bar. Usually my tastes are far too eclectic for iTunes to predict what I might like, but in this case, it was spot-on.

Edward Cullen's powerful, gravelly voice, and his raw, passionate poetry had me completely enraptured from the first listen. Edward wasn't just another unshaven "singer/songwriter" with an acoustic guitar strapped to his flannel-clad back. First and foremost he was a poet, a twenty-first century Thomas or Yeats. His songs weren't about a catchy chorus—if anything, the music seemed more about creating a background for the story he wanted to tell.

I downloaded every track he'd made available, and spent hours YouTubing his live performances. I may have become just a little obsessed, but there was something about his music that tapped directly into my soul. I listened to the songs over and over again, trying to unravel the lyrics. I treated his pieces much as I did the poems I had pored over throughout my English degree, analyzing the themes, the poetic devices he employed, my awe for his talent ever-increasing.

And though Jacob had expected the bridal procession at our wedding to be along more traditional lines, I made a last minute change. I chose to walk down the aisle to Edward's "Walking Home". I thought it was beautiful and romantic; screw Wagner and his pompous Bridal Chorus, I wanted music that spoke of the love Jacob and I shared, and music that reflected _us_. His family wasn't terribly impressed by that decision, but then, that seemed to be the unifying theme for nearly _all _the plans I made for the wedding.

To be fair, some of my plans were a little unorthodox. I had wanted to wear a red wedding dress. My mom, and Jacob's family, were not impressed, and threatened to withdraw any funding of said nuptials, so I conceded to the more traditional ivory. However, in a secret act of defiance and as an homage to my own, well-documented stubbornness, I managed to find some vibrant red stilettos that I gleefully slipped under my dress on the morning of the wedding—a secret I shared only with my best friend, and maid-of-honor, Alice.

Despite differences of opinion on wedding etiquette and expectations, at 22 years of age, Jacob and I managed to get ourselves legally bound in matrimony. Perhaps we were too young, perhaps we didn't know each other as well as we thought, but it didn't take very long for our home life to become strained.

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><p>"Oh shit!"<p>

A quick glance at the clock in the top corner of my laptop screen shows me that I've gotten carried away on YouTube again. It happens too often. I quickly close down the screens I have open, and clear out the computer's history. I doubt Jake will check, but he will be pissed off if he sees I've been "wasting my time" watching more Edward Cullen videos. It's just not worth the arguments.

I push away from my desk, stretching out my stiff back. Ripping my headphones off, I throw them down next to my laptop. I really need to get started on dinner. It's six o'clock, and Jake will be home within the half hour.

I detour via the laundry, shifting the load that's waiting in the washer into the dryer, then starting another load of washing. Both machines going at once—that looks productive, right? I can iron and fold all the dry clothes after dinner. I don't have any marking to deal with tonight as I finished reading my ninth graders' essays during a free period this morning.

In the kitchen, I fit my iPod into the dock and select my 'April Blooming' playlist: it's heavy on the Edward Cullen tunes, of course, but there's also a mix of other artists that I felt were fitting for the Spring weather: Elixir, Ellery, Hey Marseilles, Angus and Julia Stone, Matt Corby, The Civil Wars. Of course, Spring in Forks is much like all the other seasons—overcast and dreary. If I can't force the sun to shine, I can at least brighten our little home with music.

Katie Noonan's sweet vocals fill the kitchen, and I sway and hum along as I get dinner started. I love to cook, and I'm passionate about seasonality—hence the vegetable gardens and greenhouses that take up more than half of our backyard. Dad and Jake built them for me in the fall, and with a lot of work and time spent digging and composting and weeding, I now grow all the vegetables and herbs I use in my cooking.

Tonight I decide to make an asparagus, leek and morel lasagna. I love to make pasta from scratch—it's such a great way to unwind. It doesn't take long before I'm lost in my own world, my hands busy, my music soothing me into a state of bliss.

Just as I put the lasagna in the oven, I'm wrenched back to reality by the loud and repetitive thrumming coming from the lounge-room. It drowns out the music in the kitchen.

The steady, pulsing beat that means my husband is home. Jake and I couldn't have more dissimilar tastes in music. He is fond of hardcore techno, house, and all that other stuff that I refer to as "doof-doof noise."

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><p>It was our conflicting musical tastes that initially sparked our interest in each other.<p>

I moved to Forks as we started the ninth-grade, after my Mom remarried and decided to travel the world with her new husband. Mom's always been a tad flighty, and marrying a guy with more money than sense indulged her short attention span—they flit from country to country as the whimsy takes them.

Mom and Dad split when I was just a toddler, so my poor Dad was suddenly faced with raising a teenaged daughter he barely knew. Jake's dad is a good friend of Dad's, and they threw us together in the summer break before school, hoping it would make starting high school in a new town a little easier on me.

The first time Dad took me over to the Black's place, I was sent to find Jake and 'make friends'. I found him in the garage, tinkering with a motorcycle engine, with a stereo blasting the most god-awful noise I had ever heard. I asked him, "What the hell is this awful noise?" and our lengthy debates over music began.

At the time, Jake was a devotee of nineties rap and hip-hop: 2Pac, Public Enemy, Cypress Hill, Notorious B.I.G, Wu-Tang Clan, and so on. I was immersing myself in The Beatles, Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, and Van Morrison.

Jake and I would spend hours forcing each other to listen to our new music discoveries, trying to explain to each other what appealed to us, or why we couldn't comprehend the other's tastes. Neither of us would back down, and some of our more passionate debates became legendary.

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><p>With the frenetic, bass-heavy nightclub music blaring, I concede defeat, switching off my iPod. I slip it into my pocket, before grabbing a beer from the fridge and heading into the living room.<p>

Jake is already on the couch, X-Box controller in hand.

"How are you, honey? How was your day?"

"Fine. Long. What's for dinner?" He grabs the beer I offer him, his eyes still on the screen.

"Leek, asparagus and morel lasagna. It'll be ready in about twenty minutes."

"Great. Let me know when it's done."

Jacob's attention is already fixed on whatever violently epic battle he's engaged in on-screen, so I lean over, kiss him on the cheek, and head back into the kitchen. Ten months of marriage have taught me Jake needs at least half an hour of shooting bad guys after work before conversation can be attempted.

I try to patient about this. I know Jake's work is physically draining, and he needs time to relax before he can deal with my "dramas."

As a construction worker, he spends a lot of time travelling—his company often has to take jobs quite a distance from Forks. There's not much work in our tiny town, so he frequently has to work as far away as Seattle. At the moment he's on a job in Port Angeles, which means he's dealing with an hour-long commute each way. If the company takes a job more than two hours away, he'll usually spend Monday to Friday on site, and only travel home for the weekends.

Once I'm back in the kitchen, I stare into the oven aimlessly for a few minutes, willing dinner to cook faster. Out of habit, I pull my iPhone out of my back pocket and open up Twitter. I scroll through the updates, smiling at my friends' updates.

**AliceBrandon** - 2 hours ago  
><em>I'd rather beat my head against a brick wall than ready any more of my ninth graders impressionism essays. Wait. It's essentially the same thing.<em>

**JazzW** – an hour ago  
><em>AliceBrandon aww hun. Don't do any damage to that pretty face of yours.<em>

**Jessisababe** – 30 minutes ago  
><em>Going to see the new Emmett McCarty movie. OMG is he HOT!<em>

**MikeyN69** – 20 minutes ago  
><em>Jessisababe But not as hot as me, right babe.<em>

**EdwardCullen** – 17 minutes ago  
><em>Just announced Nth America tour dates. See website for details and tix.<em>

**AliceBrandon** – 12 minutes ago  
><em>JazzW No damage to my face, I may never regain the IQ points I just lost though…<em>

**JazzW** – 2 minutes ago  
><em>AliceBrandon oh well, that's no biggie then. :P<em>

Giggling at Alice and Jasper's banter, it takes me a second to register … _Edward Cullen is touring the US again?! _

Jake and I were honeymooning in Vancouver last time Edward Cullen toured North America. He played in Vancouver, but Jake wasn't interested in seeing him live, so we didn't go. Edward's since been touring Europe and recording a new album in London, and this is the first I've heard of another US tour.

Using the browser app on my phone, I navigate to Edward's website with ease, holding my breath as I wait for the list of tour dates down the right hand side of the page to load. I cross my fingers, hoping that he'll be playing somewhere in the North-West.

**PORTLAND – AUGUST 3****rd**

**SEATTLE – AUGUST 5****th**** and 6****th**

**VANCOUVER – AUGUST 10****th**** and 12****th**.

I clamp my hand over my mouth to muffle my squeal. Edward Cullen is touring—during the summer break no less—and in only four months time! And it's quite possible I could see him play five times …

I'm startled out of my giddy fan-girling by the oven timer. I slip my phone into my back pocket and try to calm myself down as I set the table and plate up dinner.

"Jake, dinner's ready!"

"Coming."

He slouches into a chair at the kitchen table as I set his plate down.

We eat in silence at first.

"How was your day, Jake?"

"Yeah, fine. Busy. Long. We're nearly finished this job, then we'll have a few to do here in Forks which'll be good."

"Oh, that's great. It'll be nice to have some work close by."

"Yeah, don't I know it. I'm sick of the travel. How was school?"

"It was fine, though my ninth graders are driving me crazy."

Jake smiles at this.

"I'm pretty sure I drove my English teacher crazy in ninth grade … and tenth grade. Actually, I probably drove all my teachers crazy in every grade."

I giggle, remembering Jake in high school. He had very little patience for subjects he couldn't see the point of, and English was definitely one of them.

As we continue to make small talk and laugh over shared high school memories, my mind is only half on the conversation.

I'm still shocked that this summer, all things going well, I'm finally going to get to see Edward Cullen play live. My mind drifts further, wondering if he'll be playing with a band, or just accompanied by his acoustic guitar. I've seen videos of both, and I can't decide which I prefer. The atmosphere is bigger when there's a full band behind him, but there's something so intimate about seeing him on stage, alone.

"Isabella!" Jake's voice cuts through the fantasies I'm spinning.

"Huh?"

"Jesus, woman. You could at least listen to what I'm saying."

I frown at being addressed as 'woman', but quickly apologize—I _was _daydreaming mid-conversation. "Sorry, I zoned out. It was rude of me."

"Damn right it was."

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

"You know what? It doesn't even matter. Just try to pay attention when I'm speaking, would you? I've been out working my ass off all day, and it'd be nice if you could pretend to give a shit about me."

This is not an unusual complaint, but I know from experience that there's really no point mentioning the fact I also work a fulltime job—as well as managing the household.

Because my job isn't physically demanding, Jake doesn't see it as "real work"—and the cooking, cleaning, laundering and gardening I also manage to juggle are just what I'm "supposed" to do. I am, after all, a female, and we're programmed for domesticity. These arguments have been hashed out a number of times in our ten months of marriage, and I've learned the easiest way to deal with Jake when he's upset like this is to simply agree with him.

"I do care, Jake. I'm sorry for spacing out. I'm just tired."

"What the fuck could you possibly be tired from? You only work from nine 'til three. You're a fucking English teacher. All you do is talk and wave chalk around all day."

Teaching can be really draining. As a colleague pointed out to me—how many other professions are there in which the people you're trying to work with are actively trying to prevent you from doing your job?! Still, I don't feel like arguing with Jake, so I mentally roll my eyes and settle for trying to pacify him.

"Sorry, honey. I know it's not as demanding as your job. You know I appreciate how hard you work to support us."

"Good. You should." His knife and fork land on his plate with a clatter. "I'm going to take a shower."

He disappears from the kitchen, leaving me to deal with the dirty dishes. It's pretty routine by now, though we've discussed the "I cook, you clean" concept more than a few times.

As I wipe down the counters, I ponder at the changes I'm seeing in myself, and the way I respond to Jake.

Earlier on in our marriage, even two months ago, I would hold my own in those sorts of arguments. I would have refused to accept his demeaning of my work, and I would have not-so-subtly reminded him that he's perfectly capable of placing his plate in the dishwasher. I'm just so weary of the bickering, and I can diffuse the situations by agreeing with him. But am I just compromising—something every marriage requires—or am I losing some sense of who I am? I don't believe the things Jake says—it just seems easier to let him think I do, rather than engage in another round of heated arguments.

Once the kitchen is clean, I head into the bedroom, pulling the ironing board out of the wardrobe. I retrieve the pile of clean laundry from the dryer and slip on my headphones as I wait for the iron to heat up, and immediately immerse myself in Jacqueline Du Pré's inspiring interpretation of Elgar's Cello Concertos in E Minor.

It's only as I crawl into our empty bed—two hours and four loads of laundry later—that I allow myself a small smile in the dark: I'm going to see Edward Cullen perform live this summer!


	3. June 2010

Chapter Two: June 2010

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><p><strong>AN: Apparently I don't own Twilight. Who knew?**

**This chapter contains some non-romantic sex and emotional manipulation.**

**If you think you're being abused, emotionally, physically, or sexually, please don't put up with it. Seek out help. You DO NOT deserve it.**

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><p>"Isabella. I'm going now!"<p>

Startled, I sit up in my bed, my heart racing. A glance at the red glowing numbers on the clock by my bed tells me it's only five o'clock. I groan, squinting in the early morning darkness.

"I'll be back Friday evening," Jacob says.

"Okay." I yawn. "Give me a call when you finish work tonight. Drive safely, okay?"

"Yep. See ya."

"Bye Jake, I love you."

The front door slams.

I slump back down into the pillows. Rolling over, I fall asleep again easily.

By the time my alarm clock actually goes off at 6:30, Jake is well on his way to Seattle, where he'll be working for the next two weeks. He'll come home Friday night, and then head back there early Monday morning.

I crawl out of bed, heading for the shower. In the bathroom, I strip out of my pajamas and turn the shower on. As I wait for the water to heat up, I take in my reflection with little interest.

My skin is pale, but clear, as it has always been. My waist-length hair is shiny; a dark brown, with blonde and caramel highlights through it. My brown eyes are clear, my eyelashes long, and my lips are full and red. I've never placed too much emphasis on how I look, but I also don't really have any complaints. Sure, I've gained a pound or two over the last year, but it just means my hips are curvier and my breasts fuller.

Steam begins to condense on the mirror. I move to I step into the shower, but a dark shadow catches my eye as I turn from my reflection. Frowning, I twist around and scrutinize the purple patch across the left side of my lower back and hip. I poke the bruise, cringing at the pain that throbs in response.

Stepping under the hot water, I wrack my brain, trying to remember how I managed to hurt myself this time. I'm clumsy, but I usually remember injuring myself.

And then, I'm assaulted with an image of Jake grabbing hold of my hip as he climaxed last night. You'd think I'd remember that hurting. But then, making love with Jake of late isn't a memorable experience, so the chances are I was hiding somewhere in my own imagination at the time.

It's not that Jake forces me to do anything I don't want to—he's not abusive. He does pull an incredibly effective guilt trip, though, and while I never feel forced, I do feel pressured. Often.

Scrub shampoo into my hair, I sigh, remembering the manipulation he used last night to convince me to make love with him. I snort. It's not making love—it's just fucking.

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><p>"Isabella, baby. Come on. You don't understand—you're a chick. It's not fair to expect me to go without sex. It's cruel. It hurts."<p>

Jake's whining pisses me off.

"Jake, seriously. I have a huge headache and I'm tired." It's true.

"Fucking hell. Do you want to force me to cheat on you or something? Do you want me to go jack off to porn? Do you want me looking at other women? I'm going away for the week. If I go away horny, you can't expect me not to be tempted. And it'll be your own fault. Women are always coming on to me when the guys and I go out for a beer. And some of them are way hotter than you. You're lucky you married a man with integrity."

I acquiesce, grimacing as Jake rubs lubricant all over me before he starts hammering away.

In my mind, I'm already a million miles away, trying to come up with something—anything—to cause my body to react to having sex. But just as I start to feel my body reacting to my daydreams, Jake grabs my hip and thrusts a few more times, panting through his orgasm.

I hate the face Jake makes when he climaxes. His eyes scrunch up, his mouth hangs open, and he sometimes even manages to drool a little. Then, without fail, looks down at me with this grating smirk of self-satisfaction that I want to scratch off his face.

We've have been dating since we were eighteen, and sleeping together since we were nineteen. He's the only guy I've slept with, and I've never once had an orgasm. Even at my own hand, or utilizing the stash of toys hidden in my bottom drawer. It's a source of huge frustration for me.

For a long time I faked orgasm to satisfy Jacob. And when I finally confessed my struggle to him, he shrugged and declared that I must be frigid. He hasn't put any effort into trying to get me off since. His logic is sound—if I'm incapable of orgasm, why even try?

Because I derive no pleasure from sex, it's a struggle to desire it, so Jacob and I fight frequently about our sex-life. I try to be patient, and I try to remember it's not Jake's fault that my body doesn't work properly. So I do make an effort to not only agree when he asks me for sex, but I even ensure I initiate intimacy often.

But it's depressing, and I carry a great deal of shame over my traitorous body. I can't even bring myself to talk to Alice about it. In this day and age, when women are supposed to be empowered and responsible for getting their own sexual satisfaction, I feel like a failure.

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><p>When my hair is clean, I shut off the water and step out of the shower, cringing as I bump my bruised hip against the vanity. I blow-dry my hair and dress for work, a pale blue short-sleeved blouse and black pants, and swipe some mascara across my eyelashes.<p>

I take my time this morning, wandering out to the garden to collect some strawberries, and making myself French toast for breakfast. I brew some coffee, and tip it into my thermos mug.

Checking the time, I realize I still have half an hour to kill before I need to head into school. I frown at the clock, checking my watch to make sure I'm not misreading the time. Usually I'm racing out the door, flirting with being late to homeroom. I guess not having to make Jake's lunch means I have some time to spare this morning.

I watch a few YouTube videos of Edward Cullen, humming along to my favorite songs. I've purchased tickets to all five of the shows he's playing in the North-West, and even managed to convince Alice to come to the first concert he's playing in Seattle. I was going to ask her to come with me to Portland, but it will be the first time I see him play live, and I don't want any interruptions or distractions. I want to go by myself, and just immerse myself in Edward's poetry and his raw, gravelly voice.

By the time I arrive at Forks High School, I'm actually feeling a bit excited about having the house to myself for four nights. I pass by the Visual Arts staffroom, ducking in to invite Alice and Jasper over for dinner tomorrow night. She suggests a girls' night out on Friday night, which is the last day of classes before Summer break. I tell her I'll have to see what Jake thinks—

he'll be getting back from Seattle, and he might nt appreciate coming home to an empty house.

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><p>The week passes in a blur of activity, and all the fanfare that accompanies the Senior Class graduating. My dinner plans with Alice and Jasper get postponed when Alice has to deal with some drama to do with decorating something, somewhere.<p>

Before I know it, I'm walking across the parking lot on Friday afternoon, staring down the barrel of around ten weeks of holidays. I grin as I dump my folders and bag into the back seat of my SUV.

I'm about to climb in when I hear Alice's voice ring across the lot. "Isabella Black! Stop right there!"

Leaning against the car, I smile as Alice dances across the lot towards me. I can't help but admire her gracefulness. I've no idea how she manages to walk as quickly as she does in four inch heels. Alice is stylish, confident, somewhat eccentric—an absolute dynamo.

She gives me an exaggerated high-five as she reaches me. I laugh as she swipes her hand across her brow. "Whew. It's done Izzy. Thank heavens. I'm on vacation! No dealing with these little shits for ten weeks!" She giggles and bounces around a little. I smile, too. Her enthusiasm is infectious.

"Yeah, we did it. We managed to make it through our first year as real teachers." I smile at my friend.

Alice and I met at UW, where we were taking various education courses together—she's a visual arts and art history teacher—and we were ecstatic when we both found jobs here. .

"So, are you coming out tonight, Izzy?"

"Uh, I dunno. I have to check with Jake. He should be heading back from Seattle now."

"Call him now! I'll wait. Come on!" Alice is bouncing around, and I can't help but laugh at her as I dig my phone out of my bag.

"This is Jake."

"Hey, honey. How are you? Have you left Seattle yet?"

"Oh. I meant to call you, babe. I'm going to stay the weekend in Seattle, okay? The driving sucks, and I'm wrecked."

"Oh." I don't really know what to say.

"Look, Isabella, it's just one weekend. We're up here until next Friday, then we've got a few local jobs lined up."

"Um, okay. Sure, honey. But what will you do all weekend?"

Jake laughs. "Jared and Embry are staying in Seattle for the weekend, too. So we'll probably just hang out, have a few beers, eat burgers and whatever."

"Well, I'll miss you. I understand the drive's a bit much, though. Um …"

"Yeah, we're just finishing up now. I'm gonna go, babe."

"Wait, Jake. Alice and some of the girls were going to head out tonight, and I was thinking of going with them. We're just going to go out for dinner in Port Angeles, and then maybe go out for a few drinks. You don't mind, right?"

"Nah. That's fine, babe."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, of course. What? You think I'd be jealous or something?" Jake chuckles. "It's not like you're gonna get hit on or something. I mean, I guess you're kinda cute, but if you're going out with all those hot girls you work with, I doubt any guy would even notice you."

I pretend his words don't sting. "Yeah."

"You've always been a wallflower, Isabella. Go, enjoy the evening out."

"I will. You have a good weekend, Jake. Relax a bit."

"Yep. Bye."

As I end the call, I look up at Alice and force a smile. "I'm in. Jake is going to stay in Seattle for the weekend. The drive's just too much for him."

She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "All right then. Let's go celebrate!"

* * *

><p>By midnight, I'm tipsy and giggling my ass off as my co-workers and I blow off the steam we've built up over the semester. Alice, Angela and I are tucked into a booth, clutching at out G&amp;Ts, and laughing at Jess, Lauren and Tanya, who are on the dance floor. Their dance moves aren't exactly those you'd usually expect to see on a Friday night at a trendy nightclub. They just finished gossiping about the way the kids danced at the prom last week, and then decided to teach each other all the moves they dreamed up at their own teenaged sleepovers and dances.<p>

Tanya is trying to teach Jess some incredibly awkward-looking hip-thrusting move, which she claims was "totally the shit" when she was fifteen. Angela shakes her head, giggling, and gets up to join them, leaving Alice and I in the booth.

"Izzy?'

"Mmm?"

"Enjoying yourself?"

"Yeah, it's nice to get out. I don't do it often, but it's nice to let loose."

"Does Jake stay in Seattle for the weekend often?"

"Uh, nope." I giggle, "He just didn't feel like facing a three hour drive. He has to head back on Monday morning, anyway." I shrug.

"He didn't mind you coming out with us?" Alice is our designated driver; so she's not as giggly as I am.

"Nope. He knows I'm a good girl."

"He trusts you."

"Yes ma'am." I giggle again. "And all you girls are hot, so he doesn't have to worry about anyone trying to pick me up!"

"Explain that, Iz?"

I try to focus on my best friend's face, frowning as I concentrate on answering her question. "Jake said I'm kinda cute." That makes me smile. "But he says with all you pretty ladies here," I sweep my arm out to indicate the girls we're with, knocking over an empty glass in the process. "Oops … Um. With all you hotties, no guy will notice me. So, he doesn't need to worry about anyone hitting on me."

Alice frowns at me, I assume for my clumsy, glass-knocking-over antics, and sighs. "All right, then cutie, I think it's time to get you home to bed."

I agree happily, allowing Alice to haul me to my feet. She links her arm through mine. "Let's go, Allie."

"You do really seem to be enjoying yourself, Iz, I don't think I've ever seen you giggle so much."

I shrug. "I don't like crowds, so when I'm out, I always sit in the corner and drink too much. I don't really like nightclub music. Jake loves listening to doof-doof, but it's not my favorite. And I don't dance." I punctuate this statement with a nod of my head. It feels funny, so I do it again. "Oh. I'm dizzy, Allie."

"Yes, I expect you are. The car's not too far. Come on, you can stay at our place. I'll cook breakfast for you."

As I climb into Alice's bright yellow VW, I smile. "I love you, Allie."

"I love you, too, girl."

* * *

><p>I wake up to the smell of coffee and a pounding headache. I sit up, startled, when I realize I'm not at home. My memory of our evening out returns, and I spy some ibuprofen and a glass of water on the nightstand. I swallow the pills, then make my way toward the promising aroma of coffee.<p>

"Morning, Isabella,"

I'm slightly surprised by Jasper's deep voice. I expected Alice would be the up-early-brewing-coffee type. He's sitting at the kitchen table, newspaper spread out in front of him.

"Morning, Jasper."

"Coffee?"

When he gestures towards his almost full chemex on the bench, I gratefully pour myself a cup. Taking a sip of the hot liquid, I sigh contentedly at the clean, balanced flavors the coffee presents.

"Sorry, Izzy. Alice thought you'd sleep for much longer. She's gone for a run. If she knew you'd be up so soon, she would have stayed."

I glance at the clock—it's about eight-thirty. Not overly early.

"Uh, yeah. This is probably pretty normal for me on the weekends. I don't like to sleep too late and waste the day."

Jasper smirks. "I got the impression from Alice that you'd be pretty hungover this morning. She said you were pretty tipsy last night."

I smile at that, remembering my dizzy exit from the club.

"I suppose I'm a bit of a lightweight. I only had three G&Ts but that's enough to make me pretty giggly. Not enough to give me a hangover though."

Jasper gestures for me to take a seat. He stands and moves to the stove, asking me what I'd like to eat. Despite my protests, he is insistent, and I gratefully agree to a plate of bacon, eggs, and mushrooms on toast. As he potters around, I try and remember if Jake's ever made me breakfast.

Alice comes into the kitchen just as Jasper sets an enormous plate of breakfast in front of me. She kicks off her running shoes, kisses Jasper on the cheek, and slides into the chair next to me. Jasper moves back to the stove without complaint as Alice places her order.

I'm quiet as I watch Alice and Jasper interact. I notice the love and adoration in Jasper's eyes as he asks her about her run, and our plans for the day. He chuckles as she gesticulates wildly, her chatter free-flowing. She pats him fondly on the cheek as he sets her breakfast down in front of her.

I'm surprised that Jasper not only voluntarily made breakfast for both of us, but that he now moves around the kitchen cleaning up after himself. Not once has he asked his loquacious wife to be quiet so he can resume reading his newspaper—he listens to her as though she is the most interesting thing in the world, even though she's merely detailing her plans for shopping this weekend.

Observing the mutual love and respect they have for each other, I feel an unfamiliar twinge in my chest. I wonder what Alice would see if she was seated at the breakfast table in my house on a Saturday morning? I know Jacob doesn't look at me the way Jasper looks at her. Why is that? Is it me? I'm very different to Alice. She's bubbly, energetic, and gorgeous. I'm reserved, restrained, and plain. I sigh internally: Jasper adores Alice because she is _adorable_.

I'm pulled from my musing by Alice's hand waving in my face.

"Izzy! Izzy!"

"Huh?" I blink. "Sorry. I was just thinking."

She quirks an eyebrow. "I was just asking what your plans are for the weekend? Do you want to come to shopping with me in Port Angeles today?"

"Sure, Allie. I'm home alone all weekend, so I'd love the distraction."

"Great. Let me grab a quick shower, then we'll duck back to your place so you can shower and change, and then we'll hit the road."

* * *

><p>Two hours later and we're heading towards Port Angeles, for the second time in 24 hours.<p>

"Izzy?" Again, I'm startled out of my thoughts by Alice's voice. "Can I ask you about something?"

"Anything, Allie. You know that."

"Do you remember last night well?"

I roll my eyes at her. She must have thought I was completely wasted. It's no wonder she carted me home so early. "I only had three gin and tonics. I get tipsy easily. And yes, my memories of last night are completely intact."

"Oh. Well, I just wanted to ask you about something you told me about Jake. If that's all right?"

"Ask away." Where on earth is she going with this?

"You told me that Jake said he wasn't worried about other guys coming on to you while we were out."

"Mmm."

"Does he say things like that often, Iz? Compare you to other women, and make you feel less than them?"

I frown at the question. "You make that sound worse than it was, Alice. Isn't it a good thing that he's not getting jealous about me going out? And it's not as though it's untrue. Tanya and those other girls are stunning."

"I don't mean to upset you. I'm just concerned for you."

"Why would you be concerned?"

"I've just noticed you've become really withdrawn lately. It worries me, sweetie."

"I've always been shy." The muscles in my shoulders feel tight. I tip my head, stretching out my neck.

"I know that. You're reserved, but you've always had a lot of spunk—

a spark. It just seems to have faded a bit lately."

"You mean I'm boring?" My confusion as to why we're having this conversation is frustrating me, and it shows in my tone.

"No, Iz. That's not what I mean at all." Alice sighs and runs her fingers through her hair. "I'm just concerned Jake makes comments like that often, sweetheart. I'm concerned he's … tearing you down and belittling you, rather than encouraging you and supporting you."

"No–"

"Just think about it, okay? If I'm overstepping the mark, I'm sorry. If it was just a one-time thing, then really, you don't need worry about it. But just … just don't for a second believe what he said is right or true, Izzy. You're incredibly special, you're beautiful, and if you weren't hidden away in the corner all night, we'd have been beating guys away from you with a big stick."

I roll my eyes at her, but part of me feels a little uneasy at her words. Jake does often point out how he wishes I were more like his friends' girlfriends and wives. He does make a habit of pointing out my shortcomings, but that's good—isn't it? He only points out my failings so I can work on them.

"I'll keep that in mind, Alice. I know you're just looking out for me. But honestly, things are fine at home. Things with Jake are fine."

Alice gives me a small smile as I grab her iPod and start scrolling through her playlists. I don't want to continue this conversation, so I select her "driving" playlist and turn the volume up.

As Tracy Chapman's voice fills the car (Seriously? Did Alice just pick out songs with the words 'car' and 'drive' in them?), I push my seat back and turn my gaze to the scenery flashing past. My mind is still going over and over Alice's concerns. I decide I want to regain some of my "spunk." I'll hold my own next time Jake wants to pick a fight. I'll prove, if only to myself, that I can still stand up to him, that I still have the same spark I always did.


	4. late June 2010

**Chapter Three: Late JUNE 2010**

**A/N: You know I don't own Twilight. I'm just taking some risks inside Ms Meyer's safety net.**

**Hope everyone has had a lovely Christmas break. **

**Again, I can't say this strongly enough: if you're being abused, you do NOT deserve it, and you do not need to endure it. Please, please talk to someone.**

"Isabella, you home?"

"Yeah, Jake, I'm in the study."

It's Friday afternoon, and Jake has just returned from nearly two weeks in Seattle. With school out for the summer, and with Jake away, I've spent a lot of time reflecting on my conversation with Alice. I've come to the conclusion that whilst I'm sure Alice has my best interests at heart, she just doesn't see the nature of Jake and my relationship clearly. She and Jake have never really gotten on well, and I'm sure that's clouding her judgment.

The house is absolutely immaculate, my vegie patch is looking spectacular, and I've been able to devour several novels with my excessive free time. Alice and Jasper, as well as most of my colleagues, are away on vacation, so it's been a quiet week. I've never really had a problem with my own company, but I have been missing Jake fiercely. We've only been able to manage brief phone conversations each night, in the short time between when Jake has knocked off at work, and then falls in to bed, exhausted.

I stand up, snapping my laptop closed, and make my way to the living room to greet my husband.

"Hey sweetheart. I'm glad you're home."

I embrace Jacob, and he rests his chin on top of my head and folds his arms around me.

"It's good to be home. I'm fucking exhausted."

"Was the traffic bad on the way home?"

"Nah, it was just a long drive."

Jake releases me, but holds my hand as we make our way into the kitchen. I pull a bottle of wine of the fridge, raising my eyebrow at him. He nods and drops in to a chair at the dining table whilst I pull some glasses out of the cupboard and pour us each a glass of wine.

"Dinner is ready when you are honey."

"That'd be great Izzy. What are we having?"

"Prawn linguine."

"Nice. Hence the wine, huh? What is it?"

"It's a Riesling from the Clare Valley in Australia."

"Huh. Thanks for having dinner ready Iz. It's good to be home."

As I serve up our dinner and seat myself at the table, I smile at my husband, reaching across to squeeze his hand before I pick up my fork. Yes, Alice was definitely wrong about us: things are just fine.

* * *

><p>With the job in Seattle done, Jake has a few days at home, and then his company has a few local jobs to keep them busy for the next five or six weeks. We spend time just hanging out at home, watching movies, working in the garden, and even heading down to the beach at La Push when we get a rare sunny day.<p>

As we drive to the beach, despite the fact Jake has an annoying Scot Project mix playing, I'm feeling relaxed and upbeat, my feet are up on the dash, and the wind is blowing my hair around my face.

"Oh, Jake, Alice and Jazz will be back next week. I thought we could have them around for a barbeque?"

Jake grunts in response, frowning slightly.

"Yeah, I guess that's okay. As long as it's not a night when I have an early start."

"Oh, of course. Well, you let me know which night is best okay? Or should we just wait for the weekend?"

"Yeah maybe. I don't really know why you want to have them around, but we'll work something out."

"What do you mean Jake? I really enjoy their company."

Jake sighs, scrubbing at his face as he answers me.

"I don't really know how to say this Isabella … I dunno … Just … Don't you feel like Alice is always patronizing you?"

I'm silent. I don't ever feel patronized by Alice. Sure, she's overly enthusiastic, and there was the conversation she tried to have with me about Jacob last week, but that was probably just a misunderstanding.

"I mean, I know you like to think the best of people, babe, but I dunno … I don't think Alice is a very good friend to you. Honestly, I don't actually think she likes you very much."

I don't know how to respond to that, so I absently watch the scenery as it flashes past the window whilst Jake continues to speak.

"I mean, the only time she wants to hang out with you is when I'm away and she feels sorry for you. I'm not sure Iz, I just don't want to see you invest heaps in that friendship and then get hurt."

"Why do you think Alice would hurt me Jacob?" My voice is small, shaky as I try to speak over the wind swirling into the car.

"She's shallow Iz. She'll dump you when a shiny new toy turns up in town. I mean, you guys don't have heaps in common, and she's really outgoing. So I wouldn't be at all surprised if she ends up spending all her time with Tanya and Angela. No offense babe, but I'm sure those girls have worked out you're not the greatest company for a night out on the town."

"Do you really think that's true, Jake?" My voice is shaky, and I can feel the tears starting to form. I can see the truth in what he's saying; I don't enjoy going dancing and the whole nightclub scene like all those girls I work with. And Alice is really extroverted, unlike me. Fuck, I get completely flustered if I have to call up and order a pizza.

Jake looks over at me, his dark eyes serious as he regards me.

"Yeah babe, I do. I'm just trying to make sure those girls don't hurt you. And hey, you've got me right? You don't need anyone else."

He squeezes my hand, and offers me a gentle smile, then reaches over to turn up the volume on the music he's pumping through the car speakers.

I'm still mulling over Jake's revelation as we pull up at the beach. My head is starting to throb from the loud, repetitive music, and I'm barely containing the tears as I contemplate how stupid I have been in misreading Alice's friendship. We really are nothing alike; she'd rather spend a weekend shopping and clubbing, whilst I'd be happier curled up with a book and a glass of wine. She's friendly and chatty with everyone, whilst I take ages to open up to people.

But we were friends all the way through college ... All those years, have I misinterpreted her general friendliness and openness as something deeper? I feel like the high school nerd that convinces herself the popular boy is in love with her just because he smiles at her when she lends him a pen. I've convinced myself that Alice is a good friend to me, when she probably just puts up with me out of politeness, and then later, laughs at how pathetic I am with her 'real' friends.

As we exit the car and start walking down the beach I feel utterly foolish. I try to distract myself as we settle on to the sand; focusing on the warmth of the sun on my skin, the sand between my toes and the gentle sea breeze that swirls around us. I inhale deeply, trying to get myself under control, grasping desperately at the solace I usually feel in the smell of salt and sea.

Jake finishes waxing his surfboard, and strips down to his board shorts. With his dark skin, huge frame and the hard muscles that come from a physically exacting job, he is both imposing and impressive. I notice a few girls further down the beach eyeing him speculatively, and feel a rush of pride: that's imy/i husband.

I stand up and strip off my shorts, deciding I'll chance a swim whilst the warm sun still heats the beach. As I go to pull of my tank top, Jake gently grabs my wrist and whispers my name.

"Isabella. Wait, babe, are you wearing a bikini?"

"Uh yeah, I am." I smile shyly at him.

Jake smiles softly at me as he shakes his head.

"Babe, you might want to leave your top on, okay? I don't want you to embarrass yourself with all those girls watching us. They're all about appearances babe. You really don't want them pointing out your wobbly stomach and ass and laughing at you, do you?" His words are gentle, and I feel myself flush with embarrassment.

"It's okay babe. I love you, but you have put on a few pounds this year. Maybe it'd be a good idea to get into a habit of doing more exercise. That, or maybe buy a one-piece swimsuit, okay?" Flashing me a bright smile, he kisses the top of my head, then turns and jogs down the beach, his surfboard tucked under his arm.

I watch him run over the shallow waves, before he dives onto his board and ducks under the water. Once he's paddled out the back, I walk slowly down to the water's edge. I'm feeling absolutely mortified in my foolishness. I purchased my bikini whilst Jacob was in Seattle, in the hope he'd think I looked sexy in it. It's not excessively revealing, just a simple, red triangle bikini. I feel utterly ridiculous now; and I'm glad Jake stopped me before I could pull my top off and reveal my imperfections to the world. My eyes wander back up the beach to the group of girls gathered there. They're laughing and gossiping as they watch the small crew of surfers sitting out the back. They're all gorgeous, their hair various shades of blonde, their long, tanned limbs revealed by their skimpy swimwear.

I wrap my arms around my middle, as though to disguise my inferiority, and take a few more steps into the white water, testing the temperature. It's cold but refreshing, and I keep walking out until I'm standing in chest-high water. I duck under each wave as it rolls in to the shore, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness the water affords. In the ocean, those extra few pounds I've gained don't matter any more.

I float on my back, enjoying the feeling of the surging waves rocking me up and down, over their peaks and troughs. I tread water for a while, watching Jake catch a few waves. As the sun disappears behind a few clouds, I feel myself start to get cold, and I make my way back up the shore, collapsing on my towel in the sand. As I lay on the sand, I'm finding it hard to get warm. I feel chilled to the bone, and I sit up and wrap myself in both Jake's towel as well as my own, huddling in to a small ball, to try to find some warmth.

The beach is usually a place where I can find peace, lose myself in nature's symphony: the resounding crashing of the waves, the whistle of the sea breeze, the smell of salt on the air. As more clouds begin to gather, I'm feeling threatened and insignificant. I can almost feeling myself shrinking; my very sense of whom I am curling inwards, in much the same way my body is in its search for warmth. Jake chats with the other surfers, sitting on his board out the back; I idly wonder if he's embarrassed to admit the plain girl on the shore is his wife.

Darker clouds begin to roll in from the north, and the wind whips up the waves. In the gathering gloom, Jake becomes a dark smudge in the distance, and I feel completely alone.

* * *

><p>The windscreen wipers are thrashing furiously as we make our way home in the driving rain that set in just as Jake emerged from the surf. Their thrumming and swishing sets a frantic counterpoint to the dubstep Jake is currently playing. I watch the raindrops being forced across my window by the wind, my mind as tumultuous as the weather outside the car.<p>

I'm angry with myself for being one of "those" girls, who lets people's opinions of her appearance colour her sense of self-worth. I know that's exactly the trap I've fallen into today: does it really matter if I've gained a few pounds? It doesn't make me of less worth. But I know that's what I've allowed myself to believe today; that the girls on the beach are somehow better people because they fit some arbitrarily determined standard of beauty. I'm confused about my friendship with Alice, which I always believed was so genuine. I think through our history together; all the times she has been there when I needed the support of a friend, she's never let me down.

My rational mind screams these things at me, but that quiet, sinister voice controlled by my emotions is demanding attention. It whispers that maybe Alice was only there when it was convenient to her, that maybe she'll find new, more outgoing friends who she fits better with. It reminds me that it is important that Jake finds me attractive if I want our marriage to work, that it would be unsurprising really if he were tempted away by someone with the beauty I lack. The voice is seductive; it knows my weaknesses, it preys on my insecurities, and gains strength as it exploits them.

By the time we pull into the drive, I'm feeling shaky and confused. I feel completely out of my mind, and the feeling terrifies me. Jake interprets my shakiness as a reaction to the drop in temperature, and chides me for not having brought a jacket with me. I nod weakly at his reprimand and I stumble through the house into the bathroom. Turning the shower on, I once again survey my body as I strip. There is some softness to my belly and hips. Jake has a point: a bikini might not be a great option. I look at the tag on my shorts, and I'm puzzled to see they're a size six. I've been a six since I finished high school. Shit. Have I been wandering around looking ridiculous in clothes that are too tight? Surely I'd notice some discomfort?

I step into the shower, desperate to hide from my own reflection. I grab the soap, frantically scrubbing myself, as though I can clean away my imperfection. I grab at my belly and thighs, disgusted, squeezing at the flesh until I feel pain – I'm sure to leave bruises, but I feel so revolted by my body that it in a way, it feels good to punish it. I work myself into somewhat of a frenzy, squeezing and punching and scratching at myself, and suddenly it becomes difficult to breathe. There is a vicious pain in my chest that seems to be constricting my lungs, and I slide down the shower wall, gasping for breath. I crumple into myself on the shower floor as sobs begin to rip through my body.

"Isabella! Hey, babe, you've been in there for twenty minutes, can you hurry up please? I'd like a shower too. The hot water will run out soon."

I scramble to my feet awkwardly, and shut off the water, still trying desperately to regulate my breathing. I avoid looking in the mirror as I wrap myself in a towel. My body covered, I stumble into our bedroom, throwing on some yoga pants and a long sleeved shirt. I check the labels on both items, both are a six. I examine myself closely to see if the clothing is too tight, but they look to fit me well and feel quite comfortable.

After my moment of hysteria, I'm feeling exhausted, so I drag myself into the kitchen and pull a cottage pie I made last week out of the freezer. I turn the oven on and place the dish on the rack. I set a timer, deciding I need to do something to get myself back under control before Jake and I sit down to dinner. Given my level of exhaustion, I hope a short nap will have me feeling a little more stable.

I hear the shower going, and walk back down the hallway to stand outside the bathroom door.

"Jake?"

I hear him grunt before he responds,

"What is it, Isabella?"

"I'm just going to take a quick nap before dinner. I'm really tired. Dinner is in the oven, and it'll be ready in about 45 minutes, okay?"

His response is another grunt.

"Okay."

As I'm about to step away from the door, I hear Jacob grunt again, followed by a low oath. Puzzled, I pause, listening intently. He continues to grunt and groan softly behind the closed door.

I'm about to open the door to check if he's okay, when a soft exclamation halts my hand as it reaches towards the doorknob.

"Oh, ugh, fuck yes!"

I feel the blood rush to my head as I realize what Jacob is doing in the shower. Dizzy, I stumble back towards the bedroom, crawling under the covers on the bed. I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to make sense of what I'm feeling. Part of me feels relieved; I'm hoping we won't have to fight about sex tonight. I'm also feeling unbelievably insecure about it, is Jake no longer attracted to me? Maybe he derives more satisfaction at his own hands than he does from my body? I shake my head at my own hypocrisy – I can't have it both ways. It's sheer foolishness for me to be simultaneously relieved that my husband won't ask me for sex, yet disappointed that he doesn't want me. And then, there is a much smaller, yet much more unsettling, part of me, that is somewhat aroused. It feels wrong, but I want to know what I would have seen had I opened the bathroom door.

Exhausted and confused by the many directions my mind is pulling me in, I yank the blankets over my head, burrowing myself into my pillows. My mind overwhelmed, I simply switch off, and fall into a desperate slumber.

* * *

><p>"IZZY! BABE, WAKE UP!"<p>

I sit bolt upright at the sound of Jake's voice, which is accompanied by a loud banging on the bedroom door. Groaning, I automatically slide out of bed, stretching. I stand still for a moment, trying to orient myself.

"BABE, COME ON! THE OVEN'S BEEPING!"

I stumble out of the bedroom, making my way to the kitchen, towards the incessant beeping that is coming from the oven timer. Quickly flipping it off, I grab the mitts and pull the cottage pie out of the oven, placing it on the counter. I grab the salad out of the fridge, and work quickly at serving out portions for both Jake and myself.

"You know, Jake, all you have to do when the oven is beeping, is push this button here and it will stop." I say gently, indicating the appropriate button.

Jake ignores me, and I feel myself growing irritated. I'm still tired, and the emotional upheaval of the day is taking its toll on my patience. I'm still feeling confused and upset, and I feel overwhelmed by the many conflicting emotions pounding through me.

"Jacob! Seriously, all you had to do was touch this button to turn the timer off, flick the oven off, and pull out the pie. The salad was already in the fridge, so all you needed to do was dish it out for us." My voice is quiet, but laced with irritation.

"Yeah, whatever babe. If it's not that hard, you shouldn't have a problem doing it."

I slam his plate down in front of him, before grabbing myself a beer from the fridge, picking up my own meal, and taking my seat at the table.

"Get me a beer too, would you Iz?"

"I just sat down, Jacob. You can get it yourself."

"Seriously Isabella? I drove you to the beach and back because you wanted to get out in the sun, and you can't get up and walk the few steps to the fridge to get me a beer?"

Jacob mutters something under his breath as he retrieves his beer, something that sounds a lot like "selfish bitch".

"What did you just call me?" I shriek at him, feeling my irritation quickly transforming into anger.

"I didn't call you anything Isabella. For fuck's sake, what's your problem tonight? Is it that time of the month or something?"

"Don't you dare belittle me like that Jacob! I am entitled to be irritated without having you undermine my feelings. I am allowed to feel angry, and you have no right to try to dismiss it by suggesting my mind is being governed by my hormones."

"Seriously, Iz. What the hell? You're such a psycho. Why are you shouting at me?"

I take a deep breath to try and calm myself before I speak.

"I am not shouting, Jacob. I am expressing my frustration with the fact that you seem incapable of serving yourself some dinner, or getting a beer for yourself. I am not your housekeeper."

Jacob snorts at my response.

"Seriously Iz? You want to play that game? You're fucking on holidays! You don't have to do any work for the next few months? Is it really that much to ask for you to get dinner ready for us? It's not like you have any other responsibilities at the moment."

"Jacob, I put a meal in front of you day in and day out. I keep our house tidy, your clothes clean, and the fridge full of beer, all whilst working a fulltime job. Yes, I'm currently on holidays. Yes, I have more free time at the moment. But really, does that have to mean you can't possibly lift a finger to help yourself?"

"Whatever, Isabella. The fact is, you're just as lazy as your fucking mother."

At this, I've officially lost control of my temper.

"Don't you DARE speak about Mom! Don't you dare, Jacob Black! Don't you dare compare me to her."

Jacob smirks at me, knowing he's pushing my buttons.

"Are you going to walk out on me like she walked out on you and your Dad, Izzy?" he taunts me, his dark eyes snapping with anger.

"You're just like your Mom. You don't want any responsibility; you don't want to have to take care of anything other than yourself. Marriage doesn't work like that Isabella. You have to think of someone other than yourself."

All I can manage at this point is an inarticulate cry of rage as I struggle to find the words to express the hurt and anger coursing through my veins. I'm shaking so badly as I slam my cutlery down on the table.

"Geez, Isabella? Psycho much?"

"DON'T YOU DARE CALL ME A PSYCHO!"

"Well, if the shoe fits!" Jacob is shouting now also, and he gets to his feet, his finger pointed down at me.

"It's lucky we haven't had kids yet, Isabella. Hopefully you can sort out your issues before we head down that path, or you'd fuck them up completely. You obviously aren't fit to be a mother yet. Right now, you are acting like a complete psycho."

Jacob's words are like a sharp slap across my face, and I sit gasping before his fierce disapproval. My anger drains away completely, and I'm filled with shame and remorse for letting myself get so worked up. My breathing is shallow and harsh, and I can feel the tears stinging my eyes. I fight them back, not willing to let Jacob see how much his words have hurt me.

I stand up, walking carefully to the kitchen, and begin emptying my barely touched meal into the waste bin. I place my plate in the dishwasher, and tip my half-full beer into the sink. I look back at Jacob, trying desperately to regain control of myself.

"I'm going to bed Jacob. Goodnight." My voice is quiet, but clear. I leave the kitchen, desperate to escape Jacob's disapproving gaze.

I head straight for bed, not bothering to brush my teeth or wash my face, or even change into my pyjamas. It's only once I'm safely buried under the covers that I allow the tears to escape. My quiet sniffles soon become desperate sobs, and I feel despair wash over me. The crushing pain in my chest has returned, and I gasp for breath as I continue to cry into my pillow. I feel so utterly worthless in this moment. I'm disgusted at myself for getting so upset over Jacob's simple request to grab him a beer. Why didn't I just get it for him? Instead, I lost my temper, and proved to Jacob that I'm every bit as selfish as he thinks me to be. It's no wonder he's resorted to jerking off in the shower. How could he possibly find me desirable? He thinks I'm psychotic. Am I? In this moment, drowning in despair and self-disgust, I certainly feel unhinged.

I don't know how long I cry for before slipping into a fitful sleep. At some point, I awaken slightly as Jacob slips into bed beside me, before I doze off again.

I don't want the morning to come.


	5. July 2010

**Chapter 4: July 2010**

**A/N: I don't own Bella, Jacob or Alice; I'm just messing with them.**

**I'm thinking we will be meeting Edward in the next chapter.**

I fight waking up for as long as possible, not wanting to face reality. I'm embarrassed I lost my temper with Jacob, I'm hurt by his cruel words, and I just don't want to face more hostility and confrontation this morning. The pain in my chest has dulled, and I just feel vaguely uneasy and somewhat empty as I wake up. My huge outpouring of emotion the night before seems to have left me hollow; as though my heart has not yet had a chance to 'refill' itself with feeling.

Giving in to the inevitable, I stretch and sit up. My body is stiff and sore, and I remember the brutal treatment I inflicted on myself yesterday afternoon with deep shame. I looking around, and see that Jacob has already gotten up. The alarm clock tells me that it's 8:30am on Monday morning, so Jacob must have already left for work. I'm relieved that I can put off dealing with him for a few hours. I take my time showering and dressing, quickly tending the deepest of the scratches I have marred my flesh with, and applying bruise cream where necessary. I throw on some jeans and a black casual top. I don't bother with my hair, just towel drying it quickly and twisting it into a knot.

I potter around the kitchen, making myself a simple berry smoothie for breakfast. My stomach still feels unsettled so it seems like a good option. I wince slightly as I jump up to sit on the kitchen bench as I sip from my glass, a habit both Jacob and my dad constantly chide me for. I idly flip through the newspaper Jacob has left on the counter, wondering what I am going to do with myself today. I need a distraction, or I will work myself up considering how Jacob will react to me when he gets home tonight.

I jump off the counter, placing my cup and the blender parts in the dishwasher. I spy Jacob's cereal bowl and coffee mug next to the sink, and quickly place them in the washer as well, before turning it on. I tidy the kitchen and wipe down the counter top. Jake has left his cereal box on the counter, and a quick shake of it reveals it to be empty. I place it with the recycling, making a mental note to restock it. This prompts me to quickly take an inventory of the contents of the pantry and the fridge, and I decide I need to do some grocery shopping.

I grab my keys, and lock the house up behind me. Unlocking my SUV, I clamber in and connect my iPod to the dock. I flick through my playlists, eventually settling on one that is made up exclusively of Edward Cullen tracks. His music is the only thing that can soothe my soul in the state I'm in this morning. Edward's haunting melodies fill the cabin, enveloping me with his heart-wrenchingly soulful voice. I start the car and ease down the driveway. As I head toward town, I let Edward's poetry carry me along, easing my spirit with his carefully woven songs.

On a whim, I decide to head to Port Angeles, rather than the local grocery store. I don't feel like being drawn into chitchat with any of the locals, and besides, it will give me longer in the car to wrap myself in the gentle embrace of Edward's songs. I sing along softly to all my favourites, once again overwhelmed by the sheer brilliance Edward displays in his imagery and poetic devices.

One of Edward's newer songs starts to play, and my voice falters as I feel my throat close over.

_diamonds glisten in her eyes_

_I can't stand to see them fall_

_if I could, I'd cry her tears_

_I'd bear her pain_

_I'd take it all away_

_if only she would let me_

Wetness slides down my cheek, as I cry silently. Unlike last night, there is no sobbing, or heaving, or gasping for breath, just hot tears spilling softly down my cheeks. As the final chords of the song fade, so do my tears, and I feel lighter for it. I knew Edward would bring me catharsis; I feel connected to his music in a way I can't explain.

* * *

><p>When I arrive in Port Angeles I park near one of my favourite cafés, deciding I need a coffee before I start the grocery shopping. As I sip my doppio espresso, I stare out the windows into the street. There's an eclectic mix of shops, but my eye keeps being drawn back to the tattoo parlour opposite the café. I idly imagine different things I'd like to get inked into my skin. Abruptly, I stand up, throwing some cash on to the table, and head straight for the parlour.<p>

Inside, I'm pleased to see the place looks clean and hygienic. A young guy looks up from the counter at my entrance, smiling in welcome.

"Good morning. How can I help you today?"

"Uh, yeah, I'd like to get a tattoo."

"Sure, did you have a design in mind? Or do you want to look at some of our work?"

"I know exactly what I want."

The guy grins at me, and gestures to a large black leather chair across the room.

"Let's do this, then!" I smile at his enthusiasm and take a seat. We discuss quickly what I want and where, and he quickly gets to work, creating a stencil of my design. We discuss its placement briefly, and when I'm satisfied, he snaps on some gloves and opens up a new needle. I wince at the initial pain of the needle pushing into my skin, but I quickly become used to the sensation.

"Ok, miss, you're all done." Tattoo guy's voice startles me out of my reverie, and when I look down at my wrist to see the finished work, I gasp in surprise.

"It's perfect! Thank you so much!"

Curling around my wrist in delicate, flowing script, it almost looks like I'm wearing an intricately wrought bracelet. Looking more closely, I make out the words of the Dylan Thomas poem I'd chosen, _"Do not go gentle into that good night."_

"Oh, I'm so glad you're happy with it. Can I ask what it means to you?" Tattoo guy has an easy-going manner that relaxes me, and I find myself explaining to him.

"Well, Dylan Thomas actually wrote the poem whilst his father was dying. He urges him to fight against death, not to merely succumb to it. I guess, to me though, it's a reminder to fight for my life. To live it to the full. To squeeze every last thing I can out of the time I'm allotted."

Tattoo guy smiles gently as he gets to his feet.

"I like that. So, is that everything today?"

I'm about to open my mouth to reply when I catch a glimpse of the display of body jewellery. I walk over to it, my eyes drawn to some tiny diamonds.

"I want to get my nose pierced." I tell him.

When I leave the tattoo parlour, inked and pierced, and thoroughly informed on appropriate aftercare, I'm feeling a little subversive. The feeling of having finally done something I've always wanted to, just for myself, has instilled me with some confidence. I wanted to get my nose pierced in high school but Dad flipped out. When I went away to college, it was Jake that talked me out of getting it done. I catch my reflection in a store window, and smile at what I see. I really, really love it. My wrist is wrapped in cling wrap for the next few hours, but I can already tell I'm going to love my tattoo.

* * *

><p>By the time I get home, it's late in the afternoon. I make quick work of unpacking the groceries and start preparing dinner. I decide to make a roast beef, with baked kipfler potatoes, pumpkin and beets, Yorkshire puddings, and some seasonal greens. Roast beef is Jacob's favourite meal and I suppose I'm preparing it as a peace offering. Once the beef and roast vegies are tucked into the oven, I pull out the box of hair dye I purchased and head for the bathroom.<p>

By 6pm, dinner is almost ready, and I'm waiting for Jacob nervously as I stir the red wine gravy. I tug at my newly coloured hair in agitation, twisting it around my wrist. When I hear his key in the lock, I quickly switch the stove off, and begin serving up dinner.

Jacob enters the kitchen as I'm placing our plates on the table.

"Smells good, babe. Thanks."

Jake kisses me on the cheek, before taking his seat. He reaches for the bottle of red wine on the table and pours glasses for both of us. I'm feeling disoriented by his behaviour; he's acting like it's any other regular night. I decide to go with it, I'm sure he'll want to discuss it after we've had dinner – maybe he's just really hungry.

"How was you day Jacob?" I ask nervously.

"Yeah it wasn't too bad. These local jobs are a lot easier to deal with." I try to focus as he tells me about the different projects they're working on, but I'm still feeling completely off kilter. Why hasn't he brought up last night?

"Oh, and Izzy, your hair looks nice. I think I like it better lighter, but that really dark brown colour does suit you."

"Oh, right. Um, thank you, Jake."

"Yeah, it makes your skin look really pretty." Jake observes between bites. I'm feeling completely discombobulated now. To be honest, I'm surprised he's even noticed the change in my hair colour. It's now, as he noted, a very deep brown, though the previous highlights have held the colour slightly differently, giving the colour some depth and warmth. I'm really happy with the result, and Jake's compliment makes me flush. He hasn't mentioned my nose piercing, and my long sleeve shirt is currently hiding my tattoo.

When dinner is over, I'm enjoying the peacefulness of the evening so I send Jacob to watch television whilst I clean up the kitchen. When I finish, I grab the bottle of wine and head into the lounge room to join him.

When I sit down on the couch, Jake lowers the volume on the television. Expecting that we are finally in for a difficult conversation, I refill our wine glasses and mentally brace myself.

"Oh Iz, I forgot to tell you. Sam took a big job in Portland for after all these local projects. It's probably going to take two to three weeks, maybe a whole month and because of the distance, he's rented a house for the time we're on site. So I'll be away the whole time. I'm sorry babe, I know that it's kind of shitty that I'll be away during your holidays, but we really need the work."

I blink, surprised, and it takes me a moment to respond.

"Oh. Um, well, yeah. I mean, of course, Sam needs to take all the work he can, and you need to go where he sends you. Ah, when exactly will you be going?"

Jake scratches his head and sighs.

"It depends when we finish up the local stuff, but if everything goes according to schedule, we'll all drive up on July 28, which is a Wednesday I think, and then start work on the 29th."

"Oh. Okay. Well maybe I could come too for the first few days and we could hang out over the weekend in town?"

Edward's Portland concert is August 3rd, and Jake being in the same city seems like such a perfect coincidence.

"Yeah, sure babe. That would be nice. We can drive your SUV down there, and then you can come home whenever you want, and I'll just get a ride with the boys when it's time for us to head back. You'll have to entertain yourself during the days, but we can spend the weekend checking out the city."

I bite my thumb before I speak again, quashing the urge to cross my fingers at what I'm about to ask.

"Actually, Jake, Edward Cullen is playing in Portland on August 3rd, which is a Tuesday night. Do you think it'd be okay if we went and saw him play?"

Jacob cocks his head at me, his dark eyes studying me thoughtfully.

"Uh, nah, babe, I really don't want to go, you know I how much I hate that guy's music…"

I look down at my hands, feeling crushed that this opportunity is going to be snatched from me, in spite of the serendipitous timing of Jake's job. When Jake speaks again, his words startle me and I snap my eyes back to his.

"… but why don't you go anyway, Iz? I know you really wanted to see him in Vancouver. You could stay in Portland, see him Tuesday night, and then start driving home on Wednesday."

My smile is so wide it almost hurts, and I throw my arms around Jake. He pats my head and laughs.

"Alright babe, I wanna watch the game now."

* * *

><p>With that simple conversation, things at home return to normal. Well, our version of normal anyway. Our heated confrontation is never mentioned, but our life together finds its rhythm once again. I keep myself busy during the days, sewing and gardening, reading, and of course, YouTubing Edward. Jake and I still have squabbles over him leaving dirty dishes around, or not putting his clothes in the laundry, and to some extent I still feel somewhat like his maid service.<p>

Sex is still an issue for us; I still don't really enjoy it when he suddenly starts pawing at my breasts when I'm reading in bed, and I hate the way he tries to swallow my whole face when he kisses me. I do try, though, to make sure I fulfil his needs as best I can, despite the fact I find the whole experience so unsatisfying. I still resent my anorgasmic condition, and I still can't stand watching him climax.

* * *

><p>Over the next few weeks I catch up with Alice and some of the other girls from work a few times; we have coffee, lunches out, and even a few barbeques with our families and significant others. I decline any invitations to go clubbing with them, sticking to situations I feel more comfortable with. I know I've been distant with Alice since Jacob suggested she isn't a good friend, and there's a level of depth lacking in our relationship that I really miss. I'm confused about her motives and her sincerity; she seems to care, but I don't want to allow her the opportunity to hurt me, as Jake predicted she would.<p>

Alice asks me out for lunch about two weeks after my inking and piercing jaunt. Whilst all the girls I work with have commented favourably on my nose stud and change in hair colour, I haven't shown my tattoo to anyone yet. It's mostly healed, all the scabs have fallen away to reveal the smooth ink underneath. I'm not really worried about what people will say, it's more that I don't feel the need to flash it around; it was something I did purely for myself.

When Alice called to suggest we meet her for lunch, we decided on a little diner in town, as Alice declared she was in desperate need of a cheeseburger and thick shake. I arrive and find Alice already seated in a little booth, and she informs me she's already ordered for both of us. I quirk my eyebrow at her and she shrugs in response. I don't really mind, she's ordered us cheeseburgers, fries, and thickshakes; chocolate for her, vanilla for me. It's what I would've ordered anyway, and Alice and I have eaten this meal together many times, in many different diners, in the years we've been friends.

As soon as the waitress places our meals on the table, Alice clears her throat and looks me in the eye.

"So Izzy … Are you going to talk to me about whatever it is I've done to upset you? Or are you just going to keep holding me at arms length indefinitely?"

I shouldn't be surprised that Alice has noticed the distance I've been deliberately putting between us over the past few weeks, but I am. Because of the things Jake has said to me, I've been constantly questioning the genuineness of our relationship, and I expected she wouldn't really notice the Isabella-sized hole in her life. I suppose I almost kept my distance so that she would have to come to me if she really cared. As I read the hurt written across Alice's face, I'm suddenly consumed with guilt as I contemplate the immaturity and selfishness of my actions.

I look at my hands as I try to formulate my answer.

"I, um, I'm really sorry Alice. You haven't done anything to upset me."

"So why are you hiding from me, and why haven't you shown me your tattoo yet?"

"What?" I look at Alice, startled. I've been wearing long-sleeved tops and chunky bangles, so I'm baffled as to how Alice knows it's there.

"Isabella, I sometimes think I know you better than you know yourself. I know you've been deliberately not calling attention to it, but I know it's there, and I know it makes you happy."

Alice gently grabs my wrist as I gape at her, and pushes my sleeve and bangles out of the way. She takes my hand and twists it carefully to examine the craftsmanship and read the delicate script.

"Dylan Thomas? It's beautiful Izzy. It really suits you."

I smile shyly at Alice, as I whisper my thanks.

"But that still doesn't explain why you're being distant and cold."

There's no easy way to answer that question without sounding like a five year old. 'Jake says you don't like me' sounds like a rather pathetic excuse.

"I, uh, I don't know Alice. I guess I'm just feeling a bit off, and I haven't really wanted to see anyone lately." That's at least true, even if it's not the whole reason.

Alice studies me carefully, and I flush uncomfortably under her unflinching gaze.

"Can I tell you a story, Izzy?"

"Of course, Allie. Always."

"Do you remember me talking about James?"

"Yes. He was your boyfriend when you were in high school, right? He was a bit older than you, is that right?"

Alice sighs deeply and nods.

"Yes. He was 22 when I was 17. I was so flattered by his interest. Have I ever told you why our relationship ended?"

I pick up a few of the fries on my plate, chewing them absently, as I try to remember the conversations we had early on in our college years, when we first became friends.

"I think I remember you saying he was really controlling."

Alice nods as she picks up her burger.

"He was. He tried to tell me how to dress, whom to associate with, and even tried to tell me where I ought to enrol in college. Of course, I'm stubborn as all hell, so I'd usually tell him to stick it. But, one of the things he used to do to try to control whom I spent time with was undermine my relationships with various people."

I shift uncomfortably in my chair, looking at my thickshake and avoiding Alice's sharp gaze.

"He would suggest that certain people were bad influences on me, or that others were only after my Dad's money, or that people just hung out with me because they wanted to be invited to the parties I held through high school. Basically, he would say just about anything to undermine the idea that my friends genuinely cared for me, that they truly had my best interests at heart. I believe the idea behind it was that if he convinced me that he was the only person who cared about me, then I'd be more inclined to listen to him, and to do what he wanted me to. I eventually got sick of hearing it and dumped his ass."

"Why are you telling me this Alice?" Her words are making me uncomfortable, but at the same time, I feel a desperate need to defend Jacob. I feel as though she's insinuating that Jake's controlling me, and I don't like the implication.

Alice watches me carefully as she speaks, choosing her words carefully.

"Izzy, I don't want to upset you again. But I just want you to know, I _do_ love you. I _do_ care for you, and I _truly_ do consider you my best friend." Alice looks at me meaningfully as she speaks, and I feel as though she's trying to convey something more than what she's actually said.

"I know you do, Allie."

"I should hope so, Iz. I do love you, and I will _always_ be here for you when you need me. No matter what, I will always be on your side."

As I look into Alice's sharp grey eyes, I see the truth of her words. I see her concern for me and her fierce protectiveness, as well as her loyalty and love.

"Thank you Alice. I needed to hear that." I whisper, as tears start to sting my eyes. I discreetly look away, trying to blink back the tears.

"I had a feeling you did," she says softly, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. I squeeze her hand in return, but my mind is spinning a hundred miles an hour. I need time to process things, and Alice, as ever, anticipates my needs.

"So," she says, abruptly changing the subject, "tell me about this Edward Cullen fella you're dragging me to see in a few weeks."

* * *

><p>It's not until later that night, as I lie in bed, tossing and turning, that I start to reflect on what Alice has told me. Despite her insinuation, I truly don't believe Jake is trying to control me and bend me to his will. It simply must be that he really doesn't know Alice well enough to judge her motives and her sincerity. He was just speaking in ignorance. He wants to protect me from getting hurt, but he is just a little misguided. Surely, as he gets to know Alice and Jasper better, he'll see the generous and caring friends they really are. By the time I fall asleep, I'm feeling confident that the once my husband and my best friend get to know each other better, they'll both see that they actually have the same agenda in their concern for me.<p> 


	6. August 2010  A Parenthetical EPOV

**A/N: I had no intention of switching points-of-view in this story. So consider this a parenthetical inclusion to the story: Edward's a stubborn git and he insisted he ought to get to explain some things first.**

**I don't own Twilight. **

I'm on my third beer when Marcus, my tour manager, comes to find me.

"Edward, man, you're on in ten." He yanks the beer out of my hands, completely ignoring my half-hearted protest.

"I'll make sure there's a cold one for you when you get on stage," he sighs.

"Thanks man. How's it looking out there?" My nerves start to kick in, and my left knee is jiggling ferociously. No matter how many times I take the stage, no matter how small the audience is, I'm a mess of nerves until the first song is done.

"It's not too bad for a Tuesday night, lad. A few more people have come in since Heidi finished her set, so I'd say there's maybe 120 tops."

I nod my head, before I sigh.

"And how many of them are here to see me?" I try, but fail miserably, in keeping the bitterness out of my voice.

Marcus smirks at me, cocky fucker that he is.

"I'd say there's probably only twenty or so that are here in the hope you'd bring your fan-boy with you. It's definitely not going to be like the LA shows. They take music a bit more seriously up here."

I scrub my hand along the beard that's forming on my chin, before flipping my hair back from my face. My hair, I realise as my fingers tug through it, is actually getting quite disgusting. I make a mental note to get it cut, or at least wash it, soon.

"A'ight, thanks man. Maybe when Em doesn't turn up to a few shows in a row the fan-girls'll piss off."

"I'd take what you can get Edward. I know you hate the screaming, but at least it gets your music to the masses. Don't want to be ungrateful."

Marcus winks at me and I flip him off in response. I do know that having a 'like-so-totally-hot' movie-star best friend, who happens to be a loyal supporter of my music, is a great way to have hundreds of squealing birds selling out my shows. It's not, however, really the best way to gain credibility, and I put a lot of pressure on myself to make sure the music I'm writing is up to my standards. Too many of my shows get packed out with the Em's rabid fans, who in turn, piss off the people who actually come for the tunes. I almost feel like I owe it to them to be writing and performing songs that are worth them having to endure the hysteria that's been known to occur when Em and his entourage decide to come watch me play.

"And, ah, Eddie, you do know Em and Rose are filming in Seattle, so the chances are they'll drop by to at least one of your shows there, later in the week?"

I start at the sound of Leah's voice, and flash her a half-hearted grin.

"Maybe I'll tell the big Scottish git to stay away. Stupid fucking muscle-bound freak."

"Sure you will, babe." Leah rolls her dark eyes at me as I pick up my guitar, tuning it absently.

I scowl at her as I strum a few discordant notes. I blow out a deep breath, shaking my head. I know I won't turn him away, despite the giddy fans and pushy photographers that follow the poor fucker everywhere he goes. I miss the stupid git too much. The mayhem and paparazzi that followed him to each of my three LA gigs meant we didn't actually get a chance to catch up properly.

"Anyway babe, it's not an issue tonight, so just enjoy it, yeah?" Leah gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, and I slap her hand away as she goes to comb my hair out of my face. I give her a quick kiss before I pinch her on the arse and wink at her as jumps.

"A'ight dearest. Let's do this." I pick up my guitar and my harmonica and, pushing my hair out of my eyes once more, make my way towards the stage.

When I step into the two simple lights trained on the stage, I'm still a ball of nerves, my left foot tapping away as I tune my guitar for the first song I plan on playing. It's somewhat of a relief to see that in this venue, nearly everyone is seated; they're sipping beers, a few even have bowls of chips in front of them. There's a large group of birds giggling at the bar, but they're far enough from the little stage to set me at ease.

"Uh, hi everyone. Thanks for coming out tonight to see me play. It's good to be back in the States, and it's great to be here in Portland. This first song is called _Winter Sun_."

I deliberately choose a song with some complicated finger-picking to open with. It forces me to focus my attention on my guitar, rather than on the audience, and usually helps me to get into a good rhythm. I gesture to the sound guy to give me more volume on my vocals, and then close my eyes as I start to play. I play through a few of the songs on my most recent LP without a pause, enjoying the atmosphere in this place. They're a great crowd, really attentive, and so when I pause to adjust my capo and tuning after a few songs, I tell them so.

At this point, I bend down, grab the beer Marcus has ready for me and take a few swigs. I set it back down carefully; I've spilt beer on my pedals one too many times, before I glance around the audience. I decide on a whim to share some silly anecdote about my trip from LA down to Portland. I usually can't remember half the stories I tell on stage, and it's often not until Leah or Marcus shows me them on YouTube, or I get an exasperated phone-call from Mum, that I realise that perhaps some of the things I tell an audience aren't necessarily appropriate.

I play a few more songs, and tell a few more stories, and sip my beer a few more times before I take a few requests from the audience. I'm thoroughly enjoying this set, and I exchange some playful banter with some of the lasses in the crowd. I play a few of my older songs, enjoying the crowd joining in with me on the occasional chorus. This show is such a different experience from the madness in LA last week; it's refreshing, and reminds me why I love being on tour.

Before I know it, I've been on stage for over 90 minutes, and it's time to wrap things up.

As I start to play the opening notes of _Walking Home_, I see her. She's sitting alone at a small table, off to the left of the stage. Long dark hair, simple black t-shirt, simple make-up; she's utterly unassuming, and yet, completely captivating. My glance strays towards her a few times her as I play the first verse; her eyes are closed, and as she tilts her head, the light catches on her cheek. She's crying.

The knowledge that my music has moved her so is both inspiring and humbling, and I'm certain that I've never played this song with more emotion than I do in this moment. As I reach the final chorus, I glance toward the girl again; she still has her eyes closed, and the light playing across her face reveals pink cheeks stained with rivulets of tears. I close my eyes, mentally photographing the image of her; there is a song inside me just waiting to be written for her.

The final notes linger, and I look her direction once more as they fade away. Her eyelids flutter open, and our eyes meet briefly over the sounds of frantic applause and catcalling. I nod my head at her subtly; wanting to acknowledge her, thank her, for her contribution to that performance. Her eyes widen slightly, and as she looks around behind herself, I grin. Unassuming was an apt description; and I'm slightly miffed at the way she automatically dismissed the idea I was communicating with her. Of course, there is no one behind her, and she looks back at me puzzled. As she tilts her head again, the reflected light reveals to me the deep brown of her eyes, and I'm hit with an idea.

"Uh, thanks. You guys have been brilliant. I've had fun playing for you tonight. Make sure you go see Marcus over there and buy my new EP. Well, if you want to. Um, I'm going to play one more song for you all, but it's not one of mine. I'm sure you all know it though."

I flash a grin in the direction of the girl, before launching into Van Morrison's _Brown Eyed Girl_. Apparently the crowd appreciates this, and I make a mental note to do a few more covers on the tour. Soon enough, most of the audience are singing the sha-la-las with me, and it's impossible to wipe the smile off my face.

Finishing up the song, I give the brown-eyed girl another nod as I unsling my guitar from around my neck. I thank the crowd once more, and make my way off stage, adrenaline still flowing through my veins. Marcus slaps me on the back as I step off the stage, grinning madly at me.

"Nice one, yeah?"

I simply nod, and head straight for the tiny green room. I need a pen and paper and I need then now. Leah recognises the look on my face as I walk through the door; she gives me a peck on the cheek, and closes the door on her way out. Usually I'd try and spend at least an hour signing autographs and chatting with fans after a show, especially with a crowd as brilliant as this one has been. Tonight though, I desperately need to write. I quickly grab up a pen and my notebook, and sit down with my guitar, the image of the girl and her tears burning in my mind.

* * *

><p>When I exit the green room forty-five minutes later, her song is written. It will need some polishing and tweaking, but it's basically done, and I'm elated. I head out into the bar, hoping there're still some fans hanging around; in particular, I hope <em>she<em> is still here.

Leah grabs me as I make my way out, a soft smile on her face.

"She's already left, Edward, but she's coming to see you in Seattle."

My mouth opens and closes a few times before I manage to articulate my surprise.

"Huh? Whom?"

Leah ruffles my hair playfully.

"The brown eyed girl. Her name is Isabella. I was actually chatting to her before the set. She seems lovely. She's a big fan of yours."

I grab the beer Marcus is offering me, taking a big gulp to avoid having to speak. My mind is spinning in about a million different directions. Leah sighs, pushing me gently toward the group of girls who are gathering nearby, clutching sharpies and LPs.

"Go. Meet and greet. We'll chat later. But Edward, it's fine, okay?"

I nod weakly, before extending my hand to the nearest sharpie-clutcher. I sign CDs, have a few photographs taken, chat with some fans, and thank them for their praise. I answer a few questions for a young guy who's writing an article on me for his college paper. After 45 minutes or so, I take my leave, heading back to the green room, which contains a sort-of-girlfriend who should be pissed at me, and a brand new song I've just written for another woman.

* * *

><p>I flop down on to the battered couch, automatically picking up my guitar. It's like a shield for me, and I pluck the strings nervously. Leah looks up from where she's flicking through a magazine.<p>

"It was a great show tonight, Edward. I've never seen you play _Walking Home_ with such intensity."

"Thanks." I swallow nervously, studying the strings on my guitar.

Leah's laugh startles me, and I look up at her in shock.

"Oh seriously, Edward. I'm not upset, okay! So there was a girl who was moved by your music, and you were moved by her response to it. Why are you acting like I caught you shagging her?"

"Uh. I, uh."

"You weren't thinking about shagging her, were you?"

I shake my head.

"No, it wasn't like that."

"I know. I was watching." Leah's soft voice is accompanied by a gentle squeeze of my hand.

"Edward. Look at me."

Obediently, I lift my head, looking into Leah's almost-black eyes. She's certainly a looker; shiny black hair, coffee-coloured skin, and beautiful body to boot. She's confident, outspoken and intelligent, and although she can be abrasive, she's one of my best friends. The very fact she's here in the States with me whilst I tour, instead of back home in London, is testament to her loyalty and support of me.

"Firstly, we both know our relationship is purely of convenience. We never demanded exclusivity of each other, did we? We're good friends who shag when we need the release. I keep crazy girls away when necessary, I update your website and do all the publicity crap you need done, and occasionally I sleep with you. If you find a bird and you want to pursue her, go for it. If I meet a fella I want to date, I'll go for it. And I'll still do all your publicity shit and your website, and I'll still even chase away the crazies, but we just won't shag anymore. Okay?"

"Yeah, I know Lee, but it's not about pursuing this bird -" I look back down at my hands, flipping a plectrum over and over.

"Let me finish. Secondly, I know that moment you had on stage wasn't about pursuing Isabella. Like I said, I actually met her before the show. I think you guys would get on really well. Edward, she was here to see_ you_ play. Honestly, she doesn't know who Em is." Leah raises her eyebrows at this, and my eyes snap up to meet hers.

"What?"

"I'm serious Eddie. She has no idea who Emmett is, and she's got no idea who you hang out with. She just loves your music."

"Uh. Wow."

"So, you want to tell me why you're freaking out?"

I sigh, scrubbing at my beard.

"I don't know Lee, it just felt so incredibly … intimate, yeah? She was literally weeping whilst I played. And it made me play better than I ever have, to the point I had to rush back here, and I wrote a song for her in forty-five minutes flat. It wasn't at all about being attracted to her, or wanting to shag her, it was just …"

"… spirirtual." Leah finishes for me, and I nod in agreement.

"Well, like I said Edward, she's coming to see you at both Seattle gigs. She's dragging a friend with her to the show on the 5th, and coming by herself on the 6th."

Leah pats my hand.

"You should make time to meet her. I think she'd be a good friend for you."

I hesitate, and Leah rolls her eyes at me again.

"Friends, Edward. Anyway, she's married, so I doubt she wants to be pursued anyway. But, I bet you guys would be able to talk music for hours. She seemed like a really sweet, genuine girl."

With that, Leah picks up my spare guitar in its case, and kicks me in the shin, gesturing at the guitar that still in my hands. I buckle it into its case, and collect my notebook and the other paraphernalia that I've strewn around, shoving them into my backpack.

"Let's get out of here, yeah?"

Following Leah back to the hotel, which is just a short walk from the bar, my mind is still with the brown-eyed girl and her visceral response to _Walking Home._

_I wonder what it means to her. I'll have to ask her. Ask her? Leah thinks I should talk to her. I want to talk to her. I want to know what she was thinking about tonight. I want to know what other music moves her. I bet we have similar tastes. What did Leah say her name was? Isabella. She doesn't look like an Isabella. I wonder if she goes by a nickname? Izzy? No, that's a little girl's name. Bella. Yes. She looks like a Bella._

* * *

><p>"Look, Rosie, can you tell Emmett and the crew to come to the first show and stay away for the second one?"<p>

Leah's sharp voice drags me out of my slumber. I shake off the remains of a dream that was filled with tears and deep brown eyes, sitting up and scrubbing at my beard.

"Pardon? Yeah, he's just woken up. Yeah, a'ight. Hold on. Hey, Edward! Catch!"

I look up just in time to grab the mobile phone Leah's thrown across the room.

" 'ello?" My voice is still scratchy with sleep and the previous night's performance.

"Edward, brother. How's it going? Leah said your set last night was sensational."

I smile at sound of the thick Scottish accent bellowing through the tiny speaker.

"I dunno about it being sensational, Em, but it was bloody fun. Great crowd, yeah?"

Emmett chuckles.

"So I heard."

I scowl at Leah, who shrugs at me, then gestures toward the bathroom. I nod, understanding she's subtly giving me some privacy.

"So, Leah said you and Rosie are filming in Seattle? "

"Aye, we're in rehearsals at the moment. I think filming's supposed to start in about ten days."

"Good stuff man. You taking good care of Rosie?"

"O'course man, you think she'd let me get away with anything less?"

It's my turn to chuckle, because there is no way Rosalie would put up with anything less. She's as feisty as she is beautiful, and that's saying something, because the lass is a total knockout.

"Oof. What Rosie lass? I'm just telling Edward that I'm being good to you, and look at you, trying to knock the wind out of me. That hurts!"

I laugh, easily able to imagine the antics that ensuing on the other end of the phone. I've seen them in action for years, and to be honest, I harbour a secret longing for a relationship that reaches the depths of intimacy that those crazy Scots have. Leah and I are great friends, but it's from watching Emmett and Rosalie for many years that I know it won't ever be enough. Well, maybe it's not fair to say what we have isn't 'enough'; rather it's the knowledge that a relationship can be so much 'more'. Em and Rose have been together since they finished high school. They moved from Edinburgh to London not long afterwards, both working multiple jobs whilst they tried to get acting work.

Two years ago Em got cast in an American action film that had him being heralded "Gen Y's Sean Connery", and their lives basically exploded overnight. Screaming fangirls, underwear modelling campaigns, magazine shoots, further film offers, and of course, the delightfully intrusive paparazzi following them everywhere. There was even an overzealous agent who suggested Emmett should ditch Rosalie, as being seen as 'available' was better for business. Em fired the agent, proposed to Rosalie, and they managed to outwit the paps and pull off a beautiful, private ceremony last year.

The film they're about to start shooting has them cast as the leads, and the paps are like rabid dogs, trying to get photos of the two of them on and off set. Rumours about each of them shagging random cast and crew members appear almost daily. Given this is the first film outside of a few student and independent productions that Rosalie has shot, there's also a huge amount of negativity being flung about; questioning her ability to act, and suggesting that she's screwing Emmett to get to the top.

Of course, Em and Rose take all the press, good and bad, in stride, barely noticing it, other than when the ever present photographers manage to invade their personal space. They manage to remain good-humoured about it, though they were forced to hire some personal security recently.

Sounds of the two of them carrying on continue to float through the phone speaker, their accents thickening as they banter back and forth, and I have to smile as I remind them of my presence.

"Fucking knock it off you crazy Scots! I don't have all day to sit here and listen to your foreplay!"

"Fuck you, Edward!" Rose laughs.

"Nah, I'm good, but thanks Rosie!"

I hear Em take the phone out of her hands, and he comes back on the line, still huffing and laughing.

"So Edward, we're going to come see you play tomorrow night, are we?"

"That'd be brilliant. You think you can leave the fuckwits with the cameras behind, though?"

"Aye, we'll do our best lad."

We discuss the details for tomorrow's gig briefly, and when Leah emerges from the bathroom, she taps her watch, eyeing me meaningfully. I say my goodbyes to Em, and then head to the bathroom to shower quickly, before we start packing up our shit so we can get on the road to Seattle.

* * *

><p>The first show I play in Seattle is a blur. It's utter pandemonium. Somehow, wind of Em and Rose coming to see me got out, and the place is soon packed to capacity with squealing girls. The bars security guards manage to keep most of the photographers out, thank fuck. I don't see brown-eyed Bella, but I feel her there, and again, it lifts my performance beyond the ordinary. I figure I can count it as a win that that the crowd was actually able to hear me, despite the fangirls.<p>

Chaos ensues when I leave the stage: apparently that was the cue for the two hundred odd birds to all try to get to Emmett at once – I guess I should be grateful that they at least had the decency to wait until my set was over. However, it does mean that I have to skip meeting up with any fans. I'm frustrated, as we make a quick exit into one of Em's people's darkened SUV's, heading back to their hotel. I desperately wanted to talk to Bella, but I remember Leah said that she had tickets to tomorrow's show as well, and I determine to make sure I get to speak with her then.

Emmett does me an amazing favour the next evening, 'accidently' tweeting that he's taking Rosalie to see a baseball game.

* * *

><p>When I take the stage the second night, I'm relieved to see a good-sized crowd, conspicuously free of squealers. Again, I somehow just 'know' that my brown-eyed girl is here. Again, my playing has an intensity that I know is as much hers as it is mine.<p>

I spot her early on in my set. She's sitting at a table to the left of stage again, by herself again, sipping occasionally from a beer bottle. She sways a little in her chair, moving to the music I'm playing, her eyes closed and a slight smile on her face. I watch her lips move ever so slightly as she hums the lyrics to herself, her hand keeping time on her knee. It's a humbling experience to see someone so lost in your art, seeing the joy, even if it's only momentary, that you have brought to their life.

I keep an eye on her through out the set, feeling buoyant and inspired as I play. Time slips away from me quickly, and before I'm really ready to, I'm having to wrap things up.

"Uh, you've been a great crowd this evening, than you. It's lovely to be here. Uh, it's been a much more relaxed experience tonight." The crowd chuckles at my pronouncement, no doubt some of them have seen the tabloid pictures of fans swamping Emmett after last night's show.

"I'm, uh, I'm going to play just a couple more songs. Make sure you grab my new EP from Marcus over there. He's my tour manager, make him do some actual work, yeah?" Marcus flips me the bird and I wave back cheerfully.

"Okay, this songs one of my favourites, and, uh, I didn't write it. Uh, I'm going to dedicate these last two songs to, uh, to Isabella. Uh, yeah. Thanks again."

I feel my cheeks redden, and I'm suddenly too unsure of myself to look for her reaction. I focus on my guitar, picking out the first notes of Leonard Cohen's _Hallelujah_. Playing this song, knowing I'm playing it just for her, makes it an almost transcendent experience. When I finally get the courage to look her way, she's watching me, enthralled, her mouth slightly open. I bring the song to a gentle close, and then launch into _Cry Her Tears_, one of the songs from my most recent EP.

As I sing, I reflect on my own lyrics, which seem to resonate with me more deeply now than they did when I crafted the song.

_diamonds glisten in her eyes  
><em>_I can't stand to see them fall  
><em>_if I could, I'd cry her tears  
><em>_I'd bear her pain  
><em>_I'd take it all away  
><em>_if only she would let me_

It's a completely overwhelming experience, and as I coax the song to it's ending, I feel a single tear trail hotly down my cheek. I'm slightly mortified, but I'm depending on the fact I'm utterly drenched in sweat to hide my emotion. I glance once more at Isabella. Her eyes are closed, and I watch, stunned, as a lone tear trails it's way down her alabaster cheek.

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes and two shots of whiskey later, I'm signing CDs and greeting fans. There are more than a few who tell me they saw me in Portland, then came to both Seattle shows. I thank them for their support, a little overwhelmed that people can be bothered travelling around the country to see me strum a guitar.<p>

The crowd eventually thins out, and I'm feeling disappointed that Isabella didn't stick around again. It's ridiculous how much this girl's been on my mind since Portland, and I sigh, scrubbing at my ever-growing beard. I really do need to shave and get a haircut. I head back over to the bar, ordering a beer, and tapping my fingers on the worn wood whilst the bartender pours it for me.

"Um, excuse me?" The soft, tentatively spoken question startles me, and my head whips to the left. My eyes are immediately drawn into the soulful brown eyes that have been haunting me for the last few days. I smile down at the girl; she's really tiny, barely reaching my shoulder when we're standing side by side. Her long dark hair cascades down over one shoulder, and she's dressed simply again; dark skinny jeans, converse, and some kind of floral, gauzy top that's falling off her other shoulder.

"Hi. Uh, you're Isabella, right?"

* * *

><p><strong>I know, sucky place to finish, but it had to be done.<strong>

**Review for me, pretty please?**


	7. late July  early August 2010

**Chapter 5: late July - early August 2010**

**A/N: Okay, back to Bella. Let's see how she fared seeing Edward play.**

**I don't own the characters. I'm just messing with them 'cos I can.**

**I listened to Bobby Long's **_**A Passing Tale**_** more than a few times whilst writing the first parts of this chapter.**

**My thanks, again, to Tima83.**

* * *

><p>Jake and I arrive in Portland early on Wednesday evening. The drive takes close to five hours, and by the time we arrive, my head is pounding from having travelled the entire way in a moving nightclub. Seriously, Jacob just needs to install some obnoxious strobe lighting and my SUV would be the hottest nightspot in town. We argue on an hourly basis about the volume at which he insists on playing the hardcore trance he's currently enjoying. His insistence that the driver gets to choose the music infuriates me; when I offer to drive he merely laughs, before resuming his incessant tapping on the steering wheel. We engage in a tug-of-war over the volume control, I twirl the dial down every time he makes left hand turn, and he smirks at me, before tapping the button on the steering wheel to restore it to it's former level.<p>

The boys start their newest project Thursday morning, so it's decided they'll dump their gear in the house Sam has rented for them, then head to a local pub for dinner. Jake uses my presence for the first few days as ammunition to claim the biggest bedroom, with its king-sized bed. Of course, I'm not entirely enthusiastic about the innuendo he flung around whilst doing so. He's delusional if he thinks I'm going to have sex with him in a house full of half a dozen of his workmates. Workmates who wink and leer at me as Jake and I carry our bags up the stairs to our temporary place of residence.

I beg off having dinner with the boys, claiming I'm tired from the trip and that I have a pounding headache. The headache part is true; the tiredness, not so much. I just feel really uncomfortable with some of the guys Jake works with; there's one guy in particular who seems a little creepy, I think his name is Jared. He makes a point of brushing past me too closely on the stairs and in the hallway, and isn't even stealthy about his attempts to look down my shirt.. I make myself a mental note make sure I'm never alone with him. Another guy, who I think is called Paul, laughs when I make my excuses, teasing Jacob that if I'm already "pulling the headache card" he won't be "getting any" tonight. I roll my eyes heavenward as I head up to the bedroom, wondering if I'll manage to survive living in a house with six men who can't seem to stop acting like the fifteen year old boys I find in my classroom.

* * *

><p>The next day, Jacob wakes me early, having volunteered me to cook breakfast for the boys before they head out on the job. I consider telling him to bite me, but I decide I don't really want to treat his colleagues to an early morning shouting match, so I drag myself out of bed, throwing on my clothes from the previous day, and heading for the kitchen. As I plate up the last enormous omelette, I hear a soft "thank you" as the youngest guy in the crew grabs his plate from me. I can't remember his name, it was something unusual … Ember? Embly? Something like that.<p>

The boys eat quickly, before piling into their trucks and heading to the work site. Suddenly I'm alone in the house with a stack of dirty dishes and pans. There are also now six shopping lists on the counter, because Jacob volunteered me to pick up their groceries for the next few weeks, and anything else they needed.

I clean the kitchen up, shower and dress in clean clothes, grab their lists, then head out to explore Portland.

* * *

><p>The days fly by, and, in between cooking and cleaning for the guys, I manage to do a fair bit of exploring. I decide I love Portland, though maybe I just love not being in Forks. I enjoy spending the time alone, wandering the city streets, and even find myself a great café that I return to everyday. It's called 'Barista', and I start each morning there, refusing to cook myself breakfast what with having to feed the pack of wolves.<p>

The guys work Saturday whilst we're here, and so they are all really looking forward to going out after work on Saturday night. I try to find an excuse to stay in, but they'll have none of it and drag me out with them. If I thought they were obnoxious previously, they take it to a whole new level when they're drinking together.

"So Izzzzzzzy. You've been with Jacob here since you were eighteen, huh? Was he your fffffffirst fffffffuck?"

"I'm not sure that's really any of your business, Paul."

"Aw. Come on now, don't be like that."

"Yeah, I totally was Paul. In fact, I'm her only ffffffuck."

"Ffffffuck. I've never screwed a virgin. Was it fffffffucking awesome?" Quil chimes in.

"What the ffffffuck do you think? She was tight as hell." My head snaps in Jacob's direction, as the guys all make groans of appreciation. I can not believe he's participating in this conversation. I'm his wife for goodness' sake, and I'm sitting right here.

"Jacob, I really don't think this conversation is appropriate." I elbow him in the ribs and he laughs in response.

"It's okay Izzy," he whispers-yells "I won't tell them your fffffffrigid."

"You're ffffffrigind?" yells Jared.

"Ffffffffffuck." Paul shouts.

"Fffffffrigid as in you don't like fffffucking, or as in fffffffrigid you can't come?" asks Quil, looking at me curiously.

Feeling like I'm going to vomit, I run to the bathroom, tears of embarrassment and utter fury already stinging my eyes. I throw myself into a cubicle, and collapse on the closed toilet seat, gasping for breath, trying to control the sobs that are ripping out my throat. I am utterly shocked at the way Jacob allowed his colleagues to speak about me, the way he spoke about me. I feel … violated. He just shared details of my sexuality, my failed sexuality, with his workmates; I feel betrayed and dirty.

"Izzy?" The low male voice startles me.

"You shouldn't be in here."

"Izzy, it's just me, uh, Embry. Look, I imagine you're pretty pissed off, you want me to take you home?" Shit. I forgot he volunteered to be the designated driver.

"Um, no, I think I'll take a cab."

"Look Izzy, the way they were speaking was totally unacceptable, but if it makes you feel any better, none of them are going to remember that conversation in the morning."

I sniffle. Really? That's supposed to make me feel better?

"Yeah, that probably doesn't make you feel any better, huh? Seriously, sweetheart, let me take you home. I've only had one beer, so it's fine. The guys will be drinking for several hours yet."

I reluctantly agree, and Embry grabs my bag and coat for me so I don't have to return to the fffffffucking table.

He drives me back to the house, apologising continuously for his mates' obnoxious behaviour. I don't say anything, but he doesn't seem to mind my silence.

We get back to the house, and just as we reach the front door a cab pulls up. I look at Embry, confused, as he hands me his keys.

"What are you doing?"

"Going to get so spectacularly drunk that by tomorrow morning I hopefully won't remember this either. It's the least I can do." He shrugs.

"Thank you." I whisper. I'm not sure drinking works retroactively, but I've never been shitfaced drunk, so what would I know? I appreciate the gesture though. Embry doesn't seem as much of a dickhead as his friends, he's at least had the courtesy to thank me each meal, and has also been the only person to do his own laundry this week.

"No problems chicky." He gives me a genuine smile before running back towards the cab.

The problem is, I will always remember.

* * *

><p>True to Embry's promise, when the boys all crawl out of bed late on Sunday afternoon, none of them can remember much about the evening before. I watch them all cautiously, feeling nauseous with nerves, waiting for the fffffffrigid jokes to start. They never do. Thankfully, none of them look at me any differently. They still speak to me as obnoxiously as ever, making inappropriate gestures and comments when they think I can't see or hear.<p>

Unfortunately, I will always remember.

* * *

><p>By the time Tuesday rolls around, I can't wait to get out of the house. Although I was going to stay here after Edward's gig, I decide I simply can't stand the thought, so I make a booking in a hotel around the corner from the bar where Edward will be playing. I kiss Jacob goodbye as he and the guys leave for work, telling him I'll be gone before they get back this afternoon. Strictly speaking, I really don't need to leave that early, but there's no way I'm staying around here any longer.<p>

* * *

><p>I arrive at the bar Edward will be playing in way too early, about forty minutes before the girl who's playing first is due to be on stage. I order myself a burger and a beer, and eat it outside in the fading light. I welcome the solitude of the moment after the bedlam I've been subjected to for the last week. Given that I'm staying the night just around the corner, I left the SUV at the hotel, deciding I deserve to have a few drinks. When I finish my meal, I ask the girl who clears away my plate to bring me Hendricks, neat. Sipping on my gin, I watch the afternoon fade to night, smiling as I realise I'm finally, finally going to see Edward play live in just a few short hours.<p>

When I hear the girl, I think her name was Heidi, taking the stage; I order another gin and head inside to find a seat. I find a small table to the right of the stage, against the wall and quickly claim it: I'm only about eight metres away from the girl and her guitar, and my excitement is building, Heidi's really quite good, and I'm quickly drawn into her performance. Between songs, she speaks in a soft German accent, telling amusing stories about her experiences since arriving in the United States.

She's played about half a dozen songs when a dark haired girl drops into the chair next to me. I look up at her, surprised, and unsure as to what to do. Would it be rude to ask her to sit elsewhere? I could pretend I'm saving the seat for a friend or something, couldn't I?

"Sorry, lovely, is it okay if I sit her for a while? I'll sod off before Edward comes on stage, yeah?" Her thick British accent catches me off guard, and it takes me a moment to reply.

"Uh, yeah, that's no problem at all." I say softly. If she's not going to bother me whilst Edward plays, I'm fine with her sitting with me for now.

"I'm Leah."

"Isabella." I shake the hand she's offering me, and smile slightly. Despite her obvious boldness, Leah's eyes are warm and her smile is friendly.

"You here by yourself?"

"Uh, yeah, I am tonight."

"You a fan of Edward's, lovely?"

I nod in response.

"So, what's your favourite of his songs?"

"Uh, it changes from day to day, and with my mood, but I guess _Walking Home_ would be one that I'm particularly attached to."

She nods, looking at me appraisingly.

"How did you hear about his music?"

"Um, iTunes Genius recommended it."

Leah quirks an eyebrow at me, and I suddenly feel like this is some sort of test. Maybe that doesn't make me a true fan in her books, if I stumbled across his music by accident.

"Huh. Really? That's cool. So, have you seen him play before?"

"Uh, no, actually. Well, only on YouTube. I, uh, I've got tickets to both Seattle dates as well." I don't tell her I also have tickets to the Vancouver gigs, after all, I'm still not sure how I'm going to get up there – I haven't figured out how to broach that with Jacob.

"So, do you think he's hot?" Leah leans towards me, lowering her voice and winking at me conspiratorially.

"What?" I'm baffled by her question.

"Edward. Do you think he's hot?"

"Uh," I shift uncomfortably in my seat, "I suppose he's good looking. Um, other than album cover pictures, I've only seen grainy YouTube videos though." I shrug, not really sure where she's going with this.

"So, do you want to meet him?" she asks, looking at me thoughtfully.

"No, not really." My reply is immediate, and apparently not what Leah expected. Her eyebrows almost disappear into her eyebrows, and the look of surprise on her face is so pronounced I start giggling. The combination of gin and the absurdity of this conversation is such a change of pace from the last week, that I'm shaking my head as I continue to chuckle.

"Can I ask why not, lovely Isabella?"

I sigh, swirling the gin around in my glass as I think about my answer.

"Honestly, why would I? Uh, I guess, I mean I don't really understand the whole culture of people wanting to meet celebrities and musicians and movie-stars or whatever. I mean, those people, they've made their contribution to your life, right? Their music, their art; they've shared that with the world, they've had that impact on your life, they've enriched it by bringing the beauty they create to it. But why do people have the desire to 'know' them? I don't know, I guess I just don't see what that would achieve. You meet someone, why? So you can say, 'Oh, I shook so-and-so's hand.' But why? So you feel like you're somehow important? I'm not sure. I don't know … I guess … I sort of think … it's not like I've anything to contribute to, say, Edward Cullen's life. I mean, his music is beautiful, it brings me joy and peace and it stirs my soul, you know? But what's shaking his hand and getting him to write his name on a CD going to add to his life? I've got nothing to give back to him."

My voice trails off and I shrug, suddenly feeling rather stupid for having poured out all that to a girl I met five minutes ago.

Leah looks at me thoughtfully.

"So, you wouldn't want to meet, I dunno, someone like Emmett McCarty?"

I look at her blankly.

"Uh, I don't know who that is. Is he a musician as well?"

Leah laughs loudly at my response. She shakes her head as she laughs and giggles, and I feel kinda stupid as I sit there whilst she slaps the table, causing more than a few of the people around us to look away from the girl who is singing on stage. I make a mental note to google this Emmett person, to see why she finds my response so hysterically funny. Leah manages to get a hold of herself, and when she notices I'm frowning at her, she immediately looks contrite.

"I'm sorry Isabella. You're just so different to a lot of the girls I meet at Edward's gigs. Look, I should be honest with you. I'm a good friend of Edward's, and I also do a bit of promoting and booking for him, as well as deal with his website and shit."

"Oh." I don't really know what to say, and I feel really stupid having just told her that I don't really want to meet her friend. Shit, did I offend her?

"Isabella, I know you just said you don't see the point, but I actually think Edward would love to meet you. The contribution people who genuinely love his music make to his life is in the encouragement and support they give him. He's incredibly hard on himself, you know? He's always striving to better himself as a musician, as a lyricist, as a performer; so meeting someone who says 'I love what you create' is actually a big deal to him. Given the group of people he's friends with, he gets a lot of fans who don't really come to see him, they're only here 'cos they're hoping to see his more famous friends. I think he'd really love to meet more people who can honestly tell him that his art _has_ contributed to their lives."

I don't really know what to say, as I continue to swirl my gin and stare into my glass. I look up at Leah, who is still watching me carefully as she stands up.

"Listen, would you stick around for a little while after Edward's set?

"Uh, I guess."

Leah offers me her hand again, and I shake it. She squeezes my hand gently.

"Seriously Isabella, I think Edward would love to meet you, he'd love to hear that his music has enriched your life. Would you mind if I introduced you to him after the set?"

"Uh, let me think about it, okay?"

Leah nods, squeezing my hand again, before she smiles, and heads off back to wherever she appeared from before.

* * *

><p>Lost in thought, I'm startled when a large group of girls crowded near the bar start to whistle and hoot. I look up, surprised to see Heidi is no longer on the stage. And, actually, as I look around the bar, I see that it's really filled up. There are well over one hundred people packed in here now.<p>

There are two beams of light trained on to the little stage, and the whole evening becomes an exercise in surrealism as Edward Cullen clambers on to the stage. He slings his guitar over his plaid-clad shoulders, fiddling with his tuning pegs, and pressing a few of the pedals on the ground in front of him.

"Uh, hi everyone. Thanks for coming out tonight to see me play. It's good to be back in the States, and it's great to be here in Portland. This first song is called _Winter Sun_."

As Edward begins to play, his fingers moving quickly and confidently over his guitar strings, I'm completely unaware of the other hundred people in the bar. The plaintive edge to Edward's rough-hewn voice, the raw lyrical beauty of his songs; I'm completely captivated. He plays through several of the songs on his newest album without a break; his voice is like whiskey, rough and smooth at the same time. It's not until he pauses playing, reaching down to grab a beer from near his feet that I'm released from the thrall.

As he tells the crowd a story about his road trip from LA up to Portland, I take an appraising look at the man, bearing Leah's question about his attractiveness in mind. He fidgets on stage as he speaks, fiddling with his guitar constantly. Is he good looking? Honestly, I can't really tell. His dark hair is quite long, falling over his forehead and obscuring his eyes. He clearly hasn't shaved in a few weeks, and as he speaks, he absentmindedly scrubs at his face. He's dressed the way he seems to be in all the YouTube videos I've watched: jeans, plaid shirt, converse. As he pushes his sleeve up over his elbow, I notice the black ink on his left forearm, but can't really make out a design in the dim light.

He plays a few more songs, agreeing to a few requests from some of the girls sitting in front of the stage, though he tells them with each request "I fucking hate that song!" It makes me smile; despite his declarations of hatred, he plays each song with such intensity and depth of feeling!

The time disappears far too quickly, and before I am ready, he's mumbling about finishing up. He tunes his guitar again, adjusts the capo, and begins to play. The notes he's picking out cause my breath to catch in my throat. He's playing _Walking Home_. There's too much emotion trying to explode out of me in that moment: it's a song that I chose for my wedding, one that spoke so much to me about enduring love being able to overcome any challenge. I vividly remember the joy and excitement coursing through me while these very notes played as I walked down the church aisle, and yet Jacob's drunken betrayal of my secrets earlier this week is still so fresh and raw in my mind. I close my eyes as the wave of emotion crashes over me, dragging me under. I know I'm crying in a bar with over a hundred people sitting nearby, but I'm powerless to halt the flow of tears.

As I hear Edward playing the song to it's close, I take a deep breath to steady myself and open my eyes. I look up at the man on the stage, and my breathing falters as our eyes meet. His eyes, temporarily unobscured by his mop of hair, are a piercing green. He nods briefly in my direction, causing his hair to flop back over his face. I look behind me to see whom he was communicating with, but I'm sitting with my back close to the wall and there is no one behind me. I look back to the stage, bemused. Edward suddenly smiles, leaning back in toward his microphone.

"Uh, thanks. You guys have been brilliant. I've had fun playing for you tonight. Make sure you go see Marcus over there and buy my new EP. Well, if you want to. Um, I'm going to play one more song for you all, but it's not one of mine. I'm sure you all know it though."

With a grin, he launches into a rousing rendition of Van Morrison's _Brown Eyed Girl_, and it' impossible to keep the grin from my face. This song has a special place in my heart, Dad used to sing it to me all the time when I was a little girl. The rest of the crowd enthusiastically join in as he sings the choruses. When the song finishes, he looks back in my direction, and to my surprise, nods once again, before disappearing off the stage to the crowd's raucous applause.

I stay seated for a while, savouring the experience of seeing Edward play live for the first time, and a little bit bereft that after such a long anticipation, it's already over. I'm glad I still have four more opportunities to hear him play, once simply wasn't enough.

I'm still sitting there reflecting, when Leah appears again, and sits down in front of me.

"So Isabella, have you thought about my suggestion?"

"Oh! Um, I don't know Leah. Um, I don't know."

Leah looks at me closely, her eyes softening as she looks me over. It's only then I remember that my eyes are probably puffy and red, and that there are still salty tracks marking my cheeks. I wipe my face on my cardigan sleeve, feeling embarrassed.

"Listen," Leah says softly, "He came flying off stage and headed straight for the green room, muttering about needing to write. He gets these sudden creative fits, and he's couped up writing a new song that he just had to get out. So, who knows how long he'll be; it could be ten minutes, it could be three hours. But you're coming to the Seattle shows, right?"

I nod my head in confirmation, feeling relieved that she's not intent on dragging me off to meet Edward right this second.

"Well, why don't you find me at one of those shows and I'll introduce you to Edward."

"Uh, well, my friend is coming with me to Seattle … " I equivocate.

"To both shows?"

"Uh, no, just the one on Thursday."

"Thursday," Leah repeats, nodding to herself.

"I'm not going to drag you backstage against your will Isabella, but I'm being honest when I think Edward would love to hear what his music means to you. So, do you think you could meet him after Friday's show? If you really don't want to, it's fine, but you know, he's just so hard on himself. I think it would be great if he could hear from someone that he's doing something amazing, that his music is worth something to someone."

I look at Leah, feeling a little bewildered; does Edward Cullen really feel that insecure and uncertain about his music?

"Okay," I agree hesitantly, "If you don't think it'll be a nuisance to him, then yes, I'll meet him."

Leah claps her hands and her smile is so genuine that I can't help but return it. We exchange numbers, "in case it's hard to find each other in the Seattle venue", and I get to my feet, preparing to wander back to my hotel. Leah stands up as well, and just to make the evening even more bizarre, grabs me in a fierce hug.

"Thank you Isabella!"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." I smile awkwardly and take my leave.

I'm still shaking my head in disbelief when I arrive back to the hotel room.

* * *

><p>Alice meets me in Seattle at lunchtime on Wednesday, and we spend almost two days exploring and catching up. Things are less awkward now that I know I can trust her friendship, and we have a great time wandering around the city, revisiting the places we loved to visit while we were at college, and discovering new places.<p>

On Thursday as we're getting ready for Edward's show, I remember something from my conversation with Leah.

"Hey Allie, who is Emmett McCartney?"

Alice looks up at me from where she's pondering the contents of her suitcase and laughs.

"You mean Emmett McCarty, right?"

"Maybe …" I shrug.

"Really Izzy, you _really_ don't know who he is?"

"I wouldn't be asking if I did." I snap. I don't like feeling stupid, and the way both Leah and now Alice have carried on about my ignorance is getting my back up.

"Don't be cross, Izzy! It's just, well, he's an incredibly famous actor."

"Oh."

"Yeah. He's Scottish, and he's fucking hot. I think he's being paraded around as our generations' Sean Connery. Wait, you know who he is, right?"

My only response is an incredibly rude hand gesture, which causes Alice to giggle.

"Just checking. Though, I guess it doesn't surprise me that much that you don't know who EMac is."

"Did you just say Eee-Mac?"

"Yeah, you know, like or K-Fed, or RPattz?"

"Uh, what?"

"It's, like, the tabloid abbreviations of their names. Well, I think did it to herself, but the rest are ones trashy mags make up so people don't have to utter too many syllables when talking about celebrities."

"Huh." Yeah, celebrity culture is weirder than I though; no wonder I don't follow it.

"Anyway, I was saying, I'm not surprised you don't know who Emmett McCarty is, 'cos you don't watch many films, and you don't read any magazines."

"I watch films!" I protest.

"Yes, Izzy, you watch films. Weird, arty, indie films that no one else has ever heard of."

I poke my tongue out at Alice, before heading into the bathroom to shower and get ready to go out tonight.

* * *

><p>The gig that night is an experience in insanity. Alice and I arrive early, only to find massive crowds and a swarm of photographers at the venue. As I'd pre-booked, we get inside easily enough, and thankfully, manage to secure a tiny table towards the back of the venue. There are at least 200 young women packed in for the show tonight, and I when I comment to Alice that the crowd who came to see Edward play on Tuesday had been much more diverse, she just laughs. Pointing towards the opposite corner, Alice has to shout to be heard over the buzzing crowd.<p>

"That guy over there. The huge one in the baseball cap. That's why the place is so packed."

I look in the direction she's pointing, and can just see an absolutely enormous guy wearing a baseball cap and a black jacket obscured by a couple of big guys dressed in black. Some kind of personal security team, I assume from their wary stances; the guy must be famous or something. Leah did say that Edward had some famous friends … All of a sudden, a few things click into place in my mind.

"Who is that guy, Alice?"

"Emmett McCarty." Alice grins at the look of surprise on my face.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Did you not know he was a friend of Edward Cullen's, Izzy? I would have thought you would have known that, given your obsession with Edward."

"Why would I know that?"

"Didn't you ever google him?"

"Uh, yeah, once, but when I found his website I just bookmarked it. Most of the searching I did was on YouTube."

Alice shakes her head as she laughs at me - again. Seriously, this shit is getting old fast.

So this is what Leah must have been talking about when she mentioned that mentioned Edward had famous friends … and that sometimes the crowds are here to see his friends, and not to listen to him play … Huh, I guess that explains why she asked if I had any desire to meet Emmett McCarty. Everything suddenly makes a lot of sense … except for the fact that Leah started talking to me at all.

"Oh, that must suck."

"What, having hundreds of screaming girls and a pack of paps follow you everywhere? Yeah, I'd say so."

"No. Well, yes, that sounds utterly hellish, but I meant for Edward. These girls aren't here to listen to him play; they're here to see that Emmett guy. That must be hard for a musician. Always wondering if people are here to hear the music you put your very soul into creating, or whether they're just here 'cos they want to see your more famous friend up close."

Edward's appearance on stage brings my rambling to a halt, and as Alice and I watch him perform, I feel a bit sorry for the guy. On a more personal level, how would you know who was a genuine friend to you, and who was just using you to get to someone else?

Edward's performance is utterly brilliant, but I don't enjoy the show as much with the excitable girls buzzing around throughout the set. There is a large group of girls sitting close to us who don't shut up the entire time about how "fuckhot" Emmett McCarty is. Even with that, the evening passes too quickly, and when Edward announces he's about to sing his final song for the evening, Alice grabs my hand and starts tugging at me.

"We need to go, Iz. Now!"

"What? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, but as soon as Edward finishes, I can guarantee most of the girls in here are going to go insane trying to get to Emmett McCarty. We need to leave before that happens, because it's going to bedlam."

I acquiesce, my desire to watch Edward play one more song outweighed by the panic I feel at the idea of being caught in the middle of a group of hysterical, screaming women.

As we arrive back at our hotel, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

**From Leah: **

**Come 2moro nite. It won't b insane, I promise. Please come**.

* * *

><p>If it weren't for Leah's plaintive text, there's a chance I would have bailed on braving Edward Cullen's Friday gig in Seattle. A slight chance; because I really, really wanted to watch him play again; but a chance nonetheless, because seriously, those girls were all crazy.<p>

When I arrive at the bar on Friday night, I'm relieved to see there are no photographers hanging around. I wander in, and the place is pretty empty as yet. Like last night, there's no earlier act, just Edward, so I grab myself a beer and find a seat. Again, I manage to find a little table to the right of the stage, where I can watch uninterrupted. I almost expect Leah to appear again, but she doesn't, which I think I might be grateful about.

When Edward climbs on to the small stage, I wonder how tonight compares for him to the chaos of the previous evening. Then he starts to play, and all thoughts leave my brain, as I lose myself in the beauty of his music. I'm in a better place emotionally today, and I allow Edward's rasping voice and beautiful melodies to carry me away completely. It's overwhelming again, but in a different way: I imagine it's probably as close to an ecstatic experience as I'll ever know.

I'm quite thankful Edward doesn't play _Walking Home_ tonight. I don't think I could deal with the emotional overload that comes with hearing it. However, it's all too soon before he's wrapping up again.

"Uh, you've been a great crowd this evening, than you. It's lovely to be here. Uh, it's been a much more relaxed experience tonight." The crowd chuckles at this, and I gather that more than a few people are aware of the chaos of the previous evening.

"I'm, uh, I'm going to play just a couple more songs. Make sure you grab my new EP from Marcus over there. He's my tour manager, make him do some actual work, yeah?" The tall, balding guy setting up to sell CDs makes a rude gesture, and Edward waves and laughs in response, before pushing his hair around nervously.

"Okay, this song's one of my favourites, and, uh, I didn't write it. Uh, I'm going to dedicate these last two songs to, uh, to Isabella. Uh, yeah. Thanks again."

Isabella? I'm not sure I heard him correctly. Even if I did, I decide, it must be a different Isabella; after all, it's not a particularly uncommon name. My thoughts are abruptly halted as I recognise the song he's beginning to play. He's covering Leonard Cohen's _Hallelujah_, which is one of my favourite songs. I'm not sure I remember to breathe as he plays; Edward's interpretation of the song is spellbinding, carrying the haunting melody along with his heart-wrenching vocals. Edward Cullen's version of this song just replaced Jeff Buckley's as my favourite cover of this tune, something I would never have believed possible. He brings the song to a gentle close, before moving into _Cry Her Tears_.

I expect myself to become emotional as he plays, given my state the last time I heard this song, but instead I'm merely filled with a sense of wistfulness and longing as I listen to the lyrics.

_diamonds glisten in her eyes  
><em>_I can't stand to see them fall  
><em>_if I could, I'd cry her tears  
><em>_I'd bear her pain  
><em>_I'd take it all away  
><em>_if only she would let me_

All the tears I've cried in the last few months; all the times I've cried, wept, sobbed, bawled, sniffled and screamed, there's been no one there to notice. The idea of a friend, a lover, being will to sacrifice his own happiness for someone else's is a concept so beyond my own experience. Instead of having someone to share my despair with, I bear it alone. I feel the lone tear burn its way down my cheek as Edward coaxes the song to its finish.

Lost in my thoughts, I'm slightly shocked when I look back up to see a darkened, empty stage. I look around, and most of the crowd has left their tables and are milling around the bar. A number of girls are crowded around a recognizable mop of dark hair, and I realise Edward must be signing autographs and meeting fans. I freeze in my chair - I still haven't decided whether I want to meet him or not.

My phone buzzes, and I see I have a text from Leah.

**From Leah:  
><strong>**Do you want me to introduce you?**

Decision made, I hold my breath as I type out a reply.

**From Isabella:  
><strong>**No. I'll introduce myself. Thank you.**

* * *

><p>I stay at my table until I see the group around Edward disperse. He looks around, frowning, and I see his shoulders drop. He stuffs his hands into his pockets as he heads towards the bar. Summoning up every bit of courage I possess, I stand up and make my way over to where he's leaning on the wooden counter. As I walk up beside him, I realise he's so much taller than I expected; I only come up to his shoulders.<p>

"Um, excuse me?" I say tentatively. Apparently, I must have startled him, because his head whips around to look at me, his stunning green eyes widening in surprise. Shit, this was a bad idea. Just as I'm about to tell him to forget it and scurry away, he smiles down at me.

"Hi. Uh, you're Isabella, right?"

* * *

><p><strong>That chapter ended up longer than I anticipated, so we'll get to see their first conversation next.<strong>

**Thanks for reading and reviewing.**

**Cheers, Shell xx**


	8. August 2010

**Chapter 6: August 2010**

**A/N: Lots of you have commented that they really believe Bella needs to leave Jake. You're right. Abuse of any kind, including emotional abuse, is always unacceptable. If you're in that situation, please, please seek out help. You do not deserve it, and you do not have to put up with it.**

**It might take Bella a while to get her head around her own situation, but please bear with her!**

**Continual thanks to Tima83!**

**Song for this chapter: Hey Marseilles' **_**Hold The Morning**_**. You've got to be impressed by a band that can write 'Dostoevsky' into their lyrics.**

**Okay, Isabella and Edward's first conversation – Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>"Um, excuse me?" I say tentatively. Apparently, I must have startled him, because his head whips around to look at me, his stunning green eyes widening in surprise. Shit, this was a bad idea. Just as I'm about to tell him to forget it and scurry away, he smiles down at me.<p>

"Hi. Uh, you're Isabella, right?" Edward shifts his body to lean sideways at the bar so that he's facing me. He extends his hand, and I shake it, still feeling a little stunned. This is so surreal.

"Um, yeah, I am. Uh, I guess Leah must have pointed me out to you after we chatted the other night?"

"Uh, no. Well, I mean she told me your name but I noticed you whilst I was playing. I, uh, look; I hope, uh, I hope it was okay to mention you on stage tonight. You're not upset are you?" He pushes his hair, which is still darkened with sweat, out of his face nervously.

"You did mean me?" I manage to squeak out. I mean, I thought I heard him say 'Isabella' but it didn't really cross my mind that he actually meant me, and honestly, I'm so shocked that it's not really sinking in.

"Yeah," he says softly, "they were for you. Uh, I was pretty touched by the response you had to my music the other night."

I look at him in horror. He saw me crying?

"You saw me crying?" The words barely come out as a whisper. I'm filled with an overwhelming desire to run. I'm so embarrassed, and I can already feel the tears stinging my eyes in response to the utter humiliation I'm currently feeling. I take a hasty step backwards, almost stumbling in my desperation to put distance between us. Edward takes in the expression of dismay that must be plastered across my face, and his eyes widen. He reaches out and, tentatively, grasps my forearm.

"Please don't be embarrassed Isabella. It's okay. I, uh, watching your reaction to the song, it brought something out in my performance that it's always lacked. Uh, you made me play better, with more intensity and emotion than I ever have before."

I don't really know what to say to that. Feeling unsure, I look down at my shoes, away from Edward's gaze.

"Shit. I'm sorry Isabella. I'm sorry I'm upsetting you. Bloody hell, I'm such a git sometimes. Let me explain, please." I look up at him; his eyes are closed, scrunched up in frustration, and the hand that's not holding me has found its way back into his hair. He looks so distressed, that when he opens those piercing green eyes and looks down at me, I nod my head to encourage him to continue.

"I played those songs for you tonight because it was the only way I could think of to thank you for letting me see the way my music affects you. Uh, I guess, when I write, it's mostly for me, but seeing someone else caught up in what I've created is a pretty special experience. I mean, for a songwriter, it's pretty much the greatest thing ever, yeah? So please, please don't be embarrassed."

His deep green eyes are filled with such earnestness and concern, that I find myself relaxing a fraction.

"Well, um, thank you. Your cover of _Hallelujah_ was amazing. I've always loved Jeff Buckley's version, but I think yours might be my favourite now." I smile shyly up at him.

He shakes his head at me as he smiles back, squeezing my arm gently.

"That's insane. But thank you."

The bartender takes this moment to see if we're right for drinks, and Edward orders himself another beer, before raising an eyebrow at me.

"What would you like to drink, Bella?" He looks down at his hand, which is still gently wrapped around my forearm. His long fingers encircle my wrist with ease. He flexes them once more, and then gently releases me, his cheeks reddening.

"Uh, Hendricks, neat, thanks."

Edward and I both reach for our wallets but the bartender waves us off, telling Edward how much he enjoyed the show. Edward's hand makes it's way back into his hair as he mutters his thanks.

"Uh, can we sit down?" Edward asks me, "I've been on my feet for a while."

I agree, and we make our way to the nearest table, where Edward pulls the chair out for me. I'm not sure anyone's ever done that for me before. Perhaps the English are still big on chivalry.

"So Bella, are you a local? You were in Portland and now you're here in Seattle – do you live here?"

That's the second time he's called me Bella. I wonder briefly if he's confused about my name, but I remember that he did call me Isabella at first. Huh. Weird. I decide to ignore it for now and answer his question.

"Uh, not exactly. I'm from a tiny town, called Forks, which is about three hours west of here. I did live here in Seattle whilst I was at college though."

"I'm from a small town also. Is yours as boring as all get out?"

"Um, yeah, probably. I mean, I absolutely hated it when I moved there as a teenager. Everyone knew everyone and it's hard to fit in when you're the new kid in a small town." Edward nods his head in understanding as I speak.

"And then I moved out here for college, and I absolutely loved it. But after I finished college, my boyfriend proposed, and he was pretty set on continuing to live in Forks. So I moved back there just before I got married."

"How long have you been married?"

"Uh, since June last year, so what's that, fourteen months?"

"Your husband's not with you tonight?" He looks around, as though he suddenly expects to see someone waiting for me.

"Ah, no. He's in Portland for a few weeks, working."

Edward's brow furrows at my response.

"But he wasn't with you when you came to see me in Portland either, yeah?"

"Um, no, he wasn't. How did you know?"

Edward shrugs and scratches at his beard.

"I remember where you were sitting, and there was no one sitting with you."

"Oh. Right. Well, uh, yeah, Jacob and I have pretty different tastes in music. So, um, he didn't really want to come along." I cringe as I admit this; what if Edward takes offense?

"He doesn't like my music, right?" Edward chuckles and shrugs, "Eh, you can't please everyone."

"No, not really. He, uh, at the moment he listens to a lot of hardcore trance and house. There's a few other genres apparently, but," I wave my hand over my head, indicating I have no idea.

Edward mock-shudders, and his hair flops all over the place as he shakes his head. I laugh, nodding my head in agreement.

"Fucking awful stuff that. Especially when they play it in a car, yeah? My sister listens to it all the time. Drives me bloody mental."

"Tell me about it, I was subjected to it for well over six hours on the drive from Forks to Portland last week. It was awful." I groan, and Edward chuckles sympathetically.

"So, tell me then, Bella who doesn't like techno; aside from the music of mediocre English songwriters, what else do you like to listen to?"

With that question, the next two hours disappear, as we talk about the classic songwriters that we were raised listening to, the indie music we discovered as we grew up and wanted to rebel against our parents' music and define our own tastes, and the various bands we've followed for years. Edward and I share a love for many genres and musicians, though we agree to disagree about some things. Edward, for instance, is a huge fan of British punk, which I can't say I enjoy. Conversely, he is completely baffled when I admit to liking Florence + The Machine, whom he considers to be overly melodramatic. Beer and gin keeps appearing at the table unbidden (the bartender must be a _huge_ fan), as we continue to chat, and I rummage through my bag to produce a couple of pens so we can jot down the music we recommend to each other.

When I look back on this conversation later, I'll realise that it was really at this point that Edward Cullen and I became friends.

"You like Hey Marseilles? Yeah? That's brilliant. They're brilliant. And, did you know, they're playing here tomorrow!" Edward points at the table we're seated at. It's after 2am, and his accent has gotten thicker with each beer. He looks at his watch.

"No! They're playing TONIGHT. We have to come see them! Bella! Come with me, yeah? It'll be awesome."

I consider the idea. It's not like I have anywhere else to be, with Jake still in Portland, there's no reason I couldn't stay in Seattle another night.

"I'll check in with Jake, but yeah, why not? That would be _brilliant_." I snicker as I try to mimic his accent; apparently gin gives me quite the sense of humour.

"You're being cheeky." Edward points his finger at me, and my eyes cross trying to look at it.

"Okay, put your number in my phone, yeah? So you don't disappear back to the land of Forks and spoons and leave me stranded at a Hey Marseilles gig by myself."

"There's nothing wrong with coming to gigs by yourself." I point out, but I take his phone and enter my number into it anyway.

"This is true," he concedes, nodding vigorously. He takes his phone back from me, smiling as he fiddles with it.

"Give me your phone!" he exclaims.

I hand it over dutifully, trying not to contemplate the surrealism of Edward Cullen giving me his phone number. He smirks at me, and I startle as Van Morrison's _Brown Eyed Girl_ starts playing … from Edward's phone, which he now waves in my face.

"See. Brown Eyed Bella! That's you. And now you have my number too."

"My dad used to sing that song to me when I was really little." I smile fondly at the memory. Dad's completely tone-deaf, but it when you're little, things like that don't seem to matter so much.

"I sang it for you too!" Edward insists, pouting at me in his tipsy state.

"What?"

"The other day. In Portland. You were sad, yeah? And then you opened your eyes and they were brown, and I wanted to make them smile. So I played some Van, 'cos EVERYBODY loves Van. And then you did."

"I did what?"

"Smile."

"Oh. Yeah. I did."

"One day you'll tell me what made you sad, yeah?"

"One day." I agree, reaching for my gin. Inwardly, I snort to myself at the possibility that we'll ever speak again, regardless of the swapping of phone numbers.

Speaking of which … I tap at a few keys on my phone.

"Okay, Edward, now you dial me!"

He frowns down at his phone in concentration, and when my phone responds with Nick Cave's creepy, haunting voice, Edward starts giggling.

"That's bloody awesome. _Green Eyes_, yeah? I would have expected Coldplay."

I roll my eyes at him and he chuckles again.

"You know a bit of Australian music, yeah?"

"Mmmhhmm. My mom lives down there now, so I've visited a few times."

"Oh really, where does she live?"

"Uh, how well do you know Australia?"

"Uh, I was there in April last year. I played in Sydney and then in Byron Bay."

"At Bluesfest?"

"Yeah. It was brilliant. I'd love to be asked back, yeah? I was recording this year."

"Okay, well Mom's moved around a fair bit, but she and her husband live in Nimbin now." I look up at Edward warily; the smirk and the twinkle in his eye tell me he's aware of Nimbin's reputation. As he opens his mouth, I hold my hand up to stop him from speaking.

"Yes, okay. Yes, it's a dreadful stereotype, but Mom and Phil did move to Nimbin for _that_ reason." I can't help but giggle as I place my head in my hands.

"Bella's mum's a stoner." Edward teases me in a sing-song voice.

"Bella's mom's a crazy hippie." I correct. Then, because I'm brave on gin, I finally ask the question I've been puzzling the whole conversation.

"Hey, wait, why do you keep calling me Bella? You know my name is actually _Isa_bella, right?"

"I haven't forgotten your name." Edward says, frowning at me. "But, I'm English, we nickname everybody, yeah? And Lee told me you were Isabella, and I thought that seemed heaps formal, yeah? And so I was trying to guess what your nickname would be. And I thought, maybe it could be Izzy? But that's like a little girl's name. And you're not a little girl, yeah? So I thought Bella suited you."

I look at him blankly in response.

"You know, 'cos Bella means beautiful …" Edward, trails off, his hands raking through his hair again.

At my lack of response, Edward starts to look uneasy.

"Shit, I've offended you, yeah? I'm sorry. Oh, bugger, I'm such a fuc-"

"No, no. I'm not offended." I interrupt hastily. "I'm just surprised. Everyone does call me Izzy, actually. And you're right, it is a little girl's name, and I've always hated it, but Isabella has never seemed to fit me either. It seems too … I'm not sure, too big for me. Like wearing someone else's shoes that don't quite fit. I, uh, I kinda like Bella." I admit, my cheeks heating up. Shit, I thought it was Tequila that made people speak the truth.

Edward grins in relief, and I quickly turn the conversation away from myself.

"So, if everyone has a nickname in England, what's yours? Can I call you Eddie?' I have to laugh at the look of horror on Edward's face.

"Please don't!" he groans, shaking his head. "My mates only call me that when they're trying to piss me off." I laugh harder at his disgust, and he waggles a finger at me again.

"Cheeky, Bella."

I pout at Edward and as he laughs, an enormous yawn escapes me. I check my watch and am amazed to see it's nearly 3am. I don't think I've been awake this late since my first year of college. When I mention this to Edward he chuckles, explaining that he doesn't remember the last time he was asleep before midnight, nor the last time he was awake before midday. I guess the lifestyle of a musician is a bit different to that of a schoolteacher.

"Come on, then let's get you – oh wait, where are you staying? Do you want me to get you a cab? You're not driving back to Forks and spoons tonight are you?"

"Nah, after that much gin? Definitely not. I'm just around the corner for the evening; at The Watertown." I explain.

"Brilliant." Edward says as he stands, pocketing his phone. "We are too. I've gotta go grab my guitars, but we'll share a cab, yeah?"

I shake my head in disagreement and Edward looks wary suddenly.

"We're not getting a cab!" I exclaim, "It's only a five minute walk!"

"Fine, fine," he agrees, his expression clearing, "But you'll have to carry one of my guitars. Come on then, brown eyed Bella."

We make our way back to the venue's tiny green room and Edward grabs up a battered guitar case and hands it to me.

"I don't let just anyone carry my babies, Bella. I'll have to hurt you if you hurt her." I nod solemnly, until I catch Edward's wink. Cheeky bastard.

"Hey, Edward, where's your Leah?" I ask, suddenly realising I haven't seen her tonight. I assumed she'd be here, seeing as she texted me her offer of an introduction. Edward scratches his head as he looks at me, frowning.

"Uh, she skipped out pretty much as soon as I finished my set. I think she was going to meet Rosalie, but I'm not sure." He shrugs, seemingly unconcerned.

I can't help but ponder the nature of their relationship. Leah's confession, and her concern for Edward, made me think they might be more intimate than just good friends, but Edward's nonchalance has me reconsidering. I can't imagine Jacob being unconcerned as to my whereabouts at 3am in the morning, which is why I texted him a goodnight just before Edward came on stage. I had only told him that Alice and I were going to spend a few days in Seattle together, keeping our plans kind of vague. I feel dishonest about concealing things from him, but as I've been trying to remind myself, he's my husband, not my father.

Edward abruptly hoists a backpack over his shoulders, and shoves a beanie over his hair, which has reached an unprecedented level of disarray from the amount of time his hands have spent in it. He picks up another guitar case, and glances around quickly before we make our way back into the bar. He stops abruptly, drops the guitar case, and swings his backpack around so he can start searching through it. He emerges with two CDs and a sharpie. He scrawls across both CDs, before approaching the bar. I watch with a slight smile as he chats to the bartender, who looks like he's fit to burst as Edward hands him the CDs and shakes his hand. Edward's answering smile is brilliant as he turns back in my direction.

"That was really sweet, Edward."

He shrugs, looking abashed.

"It was the least I could do. Who knows how many drinks he brought us, and they'll probably all come out of his tips. He was pretty stubborn about refusing payment." Edward pulls opens the door, gesturing for me to precede him. Chivalry must definitely still be alive and well in England I decide.

We start wandering back in the direction of our hotel, Edward whistling cheerfully into the Seattle night, or early morning as the case may be. As I predicted, it's only a matter of minutes before Edward is opening the door to the hotel and ushering me inside. Edward looks up at me hesitantly.

"You want to have one more drink?" I nod my agreement, and follow him into the elevator. As we ride upwards, I briefly wonder if it's acceptable behaviour to be hanging out in another man's hotel room. I can't imagine Jacob would be too happy about it, but Edward's been nothing but courteous and respectful all evening, so I decide I'm not doing anything wrong. I assess my level of intoxication; I'm still feeling a bit tipsy, but I doubt I'm sufficiently drunk for my judgement to be impaired at all.

Edward stops when we reach his room, pulling out his key. He indicates the room next door, telling me that it is Leah's, before he unlocks the door, and reaches inside to flick on the lights. He opens the door wider, indicating I should go in first. The room is identical to mine on the floor below, and I place his guitar carefully on the floor by the door. Edward places the other case along side it, and dumps his backpack with a sigh. He looks down at the sharpie he still has clutched in his hand before looking back at me.

"I didn't get to sign anything for you," he pouts.

"Uh, sorry?" I stammer, "I didn't buy your EP tonight 'cos I already have it at home."

"That's okay." He looks at me deviously, "I'll just have to sign you."

"What?"

"Give me your arm," he insists.

I comply, warily extending my left arm. He pushes my gauzy sleeve out of the way and cheerfully scrawls his name across the inside of my forearm. I start giggling as the marker tip tickles the soft skin of my arm. I realise he has taken up as much room as he can between the crease of my elbow and the tattoo that encircles my wrist. A small smile plays on his lips as he studies his work. "Edward Cullen" is now written in thick, inch high black scrawl down the inside of my arm. His loopy writing looks kind of like a tattoo and I giggle.

"I should get that tattooed over," I joke and Edward smirks.

"Do it! Em's crazy fangirls do it all the time. I'll show him that I can have my name tattooed on a bird too!"

I shake my head and he pulls his mouth into an exaggerated pout, which causes me to break out into another fit of giggles.

"Speaking of tattoos", he starts, "may I look at yours?"

"Hmm," I say, pretending to consider his request. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Edward nods enthusiastically, and I extend my hand to him. He captures it gently, and his long, elegant finger traces the ink as he studies it with intently, twisting my wrist carefully, following the text as it curves around my wrist. Goosebumps break out across my skin at his gentle touch.

"You're a Dylan Thomas fan, Bella?" he asks softly. I hum affirmatively, and he smiles, pulling his own sleeve up.

"Me too."

In the same place that his name is currently scrawled on my forearm, on Edward's arm, are two lines of neat black text.

"_Though lovers be lost love shall not;_  
><em>And death shall have no dominion<em>." I whisper the lines taken from another Thomas poem, tracing the text lightly with my finger.

I look up into Edward's soft sea-green gaze, and in that moment something extraordinary, something intangible, passes between us: understanding, kinship, empathy.

I, of course, ruin the moment by yawning widely, and Edward chuckles, pulling his sleeve back down, and scratching at his face as he stifles a yawn as well.

"I should go to bed." I say quietly.

"Yeah, it's pretty late, huh?" agrees Edward. "But you will come see Hey Marseilles with me tomorrow, yeah?"

"Uh, if you really want me to come with you, then, sure, why not? I'd love to see them play live."

"Of course I want you to come! I'll call you tomorrow, yeah?"

I nod my agreement as I open the door to Edward's room, suddenly feeling the effects of a late night and more alcohol than I'm used to. Edward insists on walking me to my room, and we ride the elevator down a floor, both of us trying to stifle our yawns, chuckling as we fail. When we reach the door to my room, I fumble with my key a few times before I finally get it unlocked.

"Thanks Edward," I yawn. "It was really lovely to meet you."

"You too Bella," he grins. "Thank you for introducing yourself tonight; I had a really great time chatting."

He leans in and places a soft, whiskery kiss on my cheek, before waving goodnight and making his way back towards the elevator.

I lean in the doorway until the elevator closes him in, before locking my door, flicking off the overhead lights and kicking off my shoes. Before I crawl into bed, I dig out my phone and snap a quick picture of Edward's autograph on my arm. I save it, and also shoot it off in a text to Alice, hoping it doesn't wake her.

As I place my phone on the nightstand it buzzes with an incoming text suddenly. I swear under my breath as I fumble to pick it back up, concerned that my picture message has woken Alice after all. I grin at the screen when I see it's not from Alice after all.

**From Edward Cullen:  
><strong>**Goodnight Bella x**

I type back a quick reply.

**From Bella Black:  
><strong>**Goodnight Edward. Sleep well.**

Unable to resist the sweet lure of sleep any longer, I crawl into bed, not bothering to change out of my clothes. I flip the bedside light off and burrow down under the covers, smiling contentedly as I feel myself start to drift off into dreams.

* * *

><p><strong>If you could have someone play a song for you, like Edward did for Bella, whom would you have play, and what song would they play for you?<strong>


	9. August 2010 Part 2

**Chapter 7: August 2010 Part 2.**

**A/N: Personally, I harbour a secret desire to hear Bobby Long sing **_**Michelle**_** by Lennon and McCartney. My Dad used to sing it to me all the time when I was a little girl, and I have a vague memory of being told I was named after the song.**

**I don't own anything. Really. Not Twilight, not Hey Marseilles, and even more sadly, no scruffy British troubadours. **

**Just to make it clear, 'last night' was Friday night. Edward played Portland on Tuesday; Seattle on Thursday and Friday. **

**Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! Shell xx**

* * *

><p>I wake suddenly, bright sunlight streaming into the hotel room, indicating firstly, that I forgot to close the curtains last night, and secondly, that I've slept far later than is typical for me. I groan and roll over, hiding from the glaringly bright Seattle summer sun. I look to my left, noting the red lights on the alarm clock are telling me that it's just after 1pm. Wow. I don't think I've ever slept this late. Awareness floods through me suddenly, I smile into the pillow. I wonder if last night was a dream. Did I really spend a few hours chatting with Edward Cullen? I don't chat with <em>anyone<em> for hours, especially not someone I've just met. Wait, I have a vague notion that Edward called me beautiful at one point, and that he told me he'd performed some of his songs just for me. I definitely must have been dreaming.

I flop on to my back, and stretch my arms above my head. As I do so, I notice the thick black ink on my arm. Scrawled down my forearm is Edward's signature. Yeah, so maybe I wasn't dreaming. I can't believe I let him draw on me! I actually can't believe I had so much fun with him. I wonder briefly if I ought to be embarrassed about the giggly, buoyant person I became last night. That's not who I am, not anymore anyway.

I try to determine what it was that made last night such a refreshing, energising experience. It's so much more than having just met a musician I admire so much and whose career I have followed for so long. I feel like I've finally met someone who I feel connected to, someone whom my soul seems to recognise, a kindred spirit. I spoke more freely with Edward than I have with anyone for a long time, including Jake or Alice.

Self-doubt slams suddenly into my buoyant mood. I tell myself I'm probably just star struck. I'm certain Edward's not going to give me a second thought, despite his claims he wants us to go see Hey Marseilles tonight. I grab my phone, feeling suddenly heavyhearted, and shove a second pillow under my head to prop me up. I should probably call Jacob.

When my phone switches on, I see I have several missed calls and a four unread text messages. I'm never this popular, usually. Two of the missed calls are from Jacob, and four are from Alice. I ignore them for the moment, choosing instead to scroll through my text messages.

**From Jacob Black:  
><strong>**Hey babe. You still in Seattle? Call me.**

**From Alice Brandon:  
><strong>**Oh fuck. You didn't. Please tell me that's not real?**

**From Jacob Black:  
><strong>**Where the fuck are you? Why aren't you answering your phone?**

**From Edward Cullen:  
><strong>**Morning (or not) Bella! Hope you slept well. I just bought us some tickets to HM, so you can't bail on me! Gig starts at 8:30. I'll be banging down your door at 7pm so we can find something to eat.**

The last message was sent only a few minutes ago, so it was probably what finally dragged me out of my slumber. I quickly type out a reply to Edward; shaking my head at the parallel universe I seem to have stumbled into, in which I'm going to a concert with one of my favourite musicians.

**From Bella Black:  
><strong>**Good afternoon Edward. I'm not sure I've ever slept this well or this late! Thanks for getting the tickets; I'll see you at 7pm. B x**

I sigh as I dial Jacob's number; the tone of his second message has me on edge already. It rings a few times before his voicemail picks up. He usually can't hear his phone over the earmuffs and power tools required in his line of work.

"Hey Jake, it's me. Uh, sorry, I only just got your messages. I stayed up pretty late last night and I overslept this morning. I'm staying in Seattle for another night. Um, yeah, give me a call. I can drive back up to Portland in the morning if you'd like, and we can hang out. You've got tomorrow off, yes? Um, okay. Well, I love you. Bye."

I huff out a breath, and then brace myself to call Alice back. She picks up on the first ring, and I wonder idly if she was sitting at home waiting for my call.

"Isabella Black! Tell me that it is not real!"

"Hello to you as well Alice."

"Don't be cute; is that real?"

"Define real? It's definitely really on my arm."

"You got Edward's name tattooed on to your arm? Are. You. Insane?"

"Allie, I said it was really on my arm, not that it was really a tattoo."

"Um, so … what? You wrote his name on your arm like you did when you were eleven years old with a crush on Taylor Hanson?"

"Nope." I chuckle, enjoying Alice's bemusement.

"So, Edward Cullen's name is on your arm; it's not a tat, and you didn't do it yourself."

"Correct."

"I'm obviously missing someth - WAIT! Did Edward autograph your arm?"

"Mmhhmm."

"Don't you mmhhmm me Izzy! You spoke to him? He wrote on you? Why not just get him to sign a CD?"

I shrug, before I remember Alice can't see me.

"I introduced myself after his set last night. I didn't buy a CD because I already have them all. So he signed _me_. It wasn't my idea - he wanted to sign something, and it _was_ 3am, so I guess it seemed like a good idea at the time."

Alice is quiet, too quiet, for too long. Just as I'm about to ask if she's still on the line, she speaks.

"Izzy, you want to explain to me why Edward Cullen was drawing on you at three o'clock in the morning?"

"Sure." I chirp cheerfully, before launching into an explanation of my meeting Leah, and my introducing myself to Edward last night. I leave out the bits about me crying at the Portland gig, and Edward dedicating songs to me. Those are details that I want to keep to myself for now. Instead, I tell her about the hours Edward and I spent comparing notes on music, and our walk back to the hotel, culminating in Edward autographing me, and the discovery of our mutual love of Dylan Thomas.

"Uh, wow, Izzy. Sounds like you had a fun night. I don't remember the last time I heard you laugh as much as you have in the last five minutes." Alice says quietly. She sounds thoughtful, and perhaps a little hurt, and I sigh.

"I'm sorry Allie. I know I haven't been the greatest friend lately. I've been really down, and I don't know why."

"It's okay Izzy. Really, I'm glad you had a good night. It makes me happy to hear you so happy, truly."

"Thanks Al –" I'm interrupted by my phone indicating there is another call incoming – this time from Jacob. I know he'll be upset if we spend the day playing phone tag, so I quickly end my call with Alice.

"Hey, Allie, I'll call you back later, okay? Jacob's trying to get through."

"Sure Izzy, but I think you still have some explaining to do."

"Yeah, I know Alice. I'll talk to you soon." I sigh, before ending the call.

"Hi Jacob," I answer, as the second call picks up.

"Where have you been?" he snaps.

"Um, did you get my voicemail? I stayed up late last night and I overslept this morning."

"That's not like you."

"No, I know. I must have been completely exhausted. I don't think I've ever slept this late in my life." I agree complacently.

"Yeah, because you've been working so hard lately," he snipes. I sigh silently, rubbing my temples as I try to calm myself.

"Jake, I don't want to fight with you. I'm sorry I missed your calls. I'm sorry I overslept. Would you like me to come back to Portland tomorrow morning?"

"Why don't you come back up tonight? We're going out again, the boys won't mind you hanging around."

"I don't think so Jake." There is no way in hell I am going to set myself up for a repeat of last weekend.

"Why not? It's not like you've got anything better to do?"

"Well, actually, Hey Marseilles are playing in town tonight and I was thinking of going to see them."

Jacob is silent for a moment before he changes tack.

"So you'd rather go see a band by yourself than spend time with your husband?"

"No, but I don't want to spend time with your workmates whilst you're all drinking."

"What, are you afraid they'll try to hit on you or something?" Jacob snorts with laughter, "No offense babe, but you're not really their type. They all tend to chase nines and tens, not fives?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You know, on a scale of one to ten. You're probably like, I dunno, a five."

"Oh." I shouldn't care, but I do. My head is telling me they're absolutely pathetic little boys for scaling women on their attractiveness, that reducing women down to a number is evidence of just how immature and superficial these men are. I try to remind myself that I am more than the sum of my physical attributes, but that's my husband, damn it! The man who promised to love, cherish and honour me, has reduced me to a numerical score out of ten, and fucking hell if it doesn't sting like a slap across the face. Tears begin to gather in the corners of my eyes, and my chest feels tight.

"So why won't you come? None of the guys will even look twice at you if that's what you're so worried about?" Jacob chuckles to himself softly.

The hurt and shame I'm feeling make me lash out in anger.

"No, that's not what I'm worried about Jacob! I'm more worried about the humiliation YOU might subject me to. Because last Saturday night when we were all out, you decided to reveal intimate details about our sex life to those friends of yours, and you then proceeded to utterly humiliate me by telling them all I was frigid!" My voice rises as the anger and hurt that has been festering simmers to the surface.

"So, NO! I will not go out with you all tonight, and yes, I'd rather go to a concert by myself, because that way I won't have to spend the entire evening worrying about what other intimate details you're sharing with your mates, and I won't have to be constantly reminded just how fucking little you think of me! OKAY?"

Jacob is silent on the other end of the phone line, and in exasperation I disconnect the call. I throw my phone on to the bed, and sink to the floor as my knees give out on me. The pain in my chest flares sharply, and I'm gasping for breath. Noisy sobs rip from my throat, and hot tears begin to spill down my cheeks. I cry and sob; kneeling on the floor of an unfamiliar hotel room, until exhaustion overwhelms me, and blackness swallows me.

* * *

><p>When I crawl back into consciousness, the room is significantly darker, and I stumble to the bed to find my phone. It's 5:30pm. I stare at my phone dumbly, contemplating texting Edward to say that I'm not feeling well and won't be able to go see Hey Marseilles with him. I write out my apology and my finger hovers over the 'send' button. I stare at it for a few more moments, remembering how full of life I felt last night; how easy it was to talk, and laugh, and the strange sense of familiarity I felt with Edward. I hit delete instead, and head for the shower. An evening out with Edward, seeing a band I love; it's the perfect escape I need from the crushing reality of my life.<p>

The scalding water of the shower soothes and relaxes me, washing away the angst of the afternoon. As I wash my hair, the black ink marking my arm makes me smile. I reluctantly decide I really ought to wash it off, though I'm loath to do so. I remind myself that I've taken a photo of it, before taking the soap to it. I scrub vigorously for a few minutes, before I examine my arm and start laughing; apparently Edward used a permanent marker. The soap has caused it to fade slightly, but my arm is still covered in bold, black ink. I wonder briefly how long it will take to fade, before I decide that actually, I really don't care.

When I climb out of the shower, I wrap myself in one of the oversized, fluffy towels the hotel provides, and take my time blow-drying my hair. Once that's done, I dress simply; a pair of black skinny jeans I sewed myself, and a white lacy flutter top. I apply some minimal make up around my eyes, and brush my teeth. I'm just slipping on my converse when a knock on the door startles me. I quickly throw the covers back over the bed to give the room some semblance of order, and hurry to answer the door.

I fling it open to find Edward smiling down at me, his emerald green eyes sparkling, and a cheeky grin firmly in place.

"Hey Bella."

"Hi Edward." I look up into his face and I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. In the well-lit hotel room, I finally notice that his hair, which seems to constantly fall into his eyes, is a dark bronze. It's an unusual colour, not quite brown, definitely not red, and it seems to really set off the brilliant green of his eyes.

"I have a question for you Bella. Handshake, hug or kiss on the cheek?"

"Uh, what?" I frown, trying to figure out what he's asking.

"Well," he chuckles, "it's easy with guys, yeah? We shake hands, or do the whole back-slap-not-quite-a-hug thing if it's a close friend. But girls are trickier, so I like to establish the greeting protocol early on in the friendship. Saves me making an arse out of myself."

I smile as Edward shrugs, amused by his self-deprecation, and make a show of tapping my chin as I think over my answer.

"Hmm. I see your point. First meeting, I'd prefer a handshake. Actually, you know what? I really can't stand it when Jacob and I meet a guy and he shakes Jake's hand but not mine. I find it so rude. But we've met, hmm. I'm going to say cheek kisses for now."

Edward smirks at me, and raises an eyebrow.

"So, would you, perhaps, say that you agree that a hug is more intimate a gesture than a kiss on the cheek?"

"Oh absolutely! A kiss on the cheek is a single point of contact, you see, whereas a hug is much more invasive of one's personal space, and therefore, far more intimate a greeting." Edward nods in agreement as I explain my reasoning.

"When you meet Rosalie, I'm bringing this up with her. I happen to agree with you; hugs are much more intimate than the cheek kiss. But Rose is a hugger; she thinks someone putting their mouth on her is too intimate."

"Mmm, when you say it like that it sounds a bit creepy actually; but the cheek kiss isn't really a kiss, is it? It's more putting your cheek next to the other person's and kissing the air _next to_ their cheek."

"Yes. YES! Finally someone who understands! You must tell Rose this when you meet her! I told her that she and the giant were crazy fuckers." Edward is getting really excited and I can't help but laugh at his enthusiasm. He grins down at me, shaking his head as I continue to giggle.

"Well, now that we've established the greeting protocol, let's try this again." He grabs the doorknob and swings it closed. A second later, he knocks loudly, and I can't help but chuckle as I open it up again.

"Hey Bella." He ducks down to deliver a whiskery kiss to my cheek.

"Hi Edward. How are you?" I play along, failing miserably at containing my amusement.

"I'm great. Are you hungry?"

"I'm starving! I haven't eaten since … " I pause, trying to remember when I last ate. Edward raises an eyebrow at me.

"Since …?"

"Um, before your set last night. Huh."

"Is there a reason you haven't eaten today? Are you unwell?" Edward prods, looking concerned.

"Uh, well I didn't wake up until 1pm, so consequently I missed breakfast, and then … uh, I had a bit of a crappy afternoon and I fell asleep again and only woke up at 5:30." My voice trails off, and I cringe at the memory of exactly why it was that I ended up falling asleep, crumpled on the floor, this afternoon. An echo of the sharp, stabbing pain flares in my chest, but I resolutely take a deep breath and push the memories away, determined to enjoy the evening.

Edward's gaze softens as he studies my face, and he smiles gently.

"Okay, well, let's go get you some dinner. And hey, on the plus side, you've slept all day, so you should be good to party all night!" He grins at me, and I smile, thankful that he's intuitive enough to know not to push me.

I turn away and grab up my red cardigan, figuring that although it's still summer, if we're out late again, I'll probably need its warmth. I pick up my phone, and am somewhat surprised to see Jacob hasn't made any attempt to call me back. I've never hung up on him before, and I can't imagine him taking it too kindly. I find my wallet, and throw it, the phone and my cardigan into my bag. I look up at Edward announcing that I'm ready to go.

"Brilliant. Let's go!" Edward offers me his arm, and I laugh as I link my arm through his. We continue, arm in arm, as we exit the hotel and make our way into the Seattle evening. As we walk, I fill him in on my failed attempts to remove his autograph from my arm, and he looks somewhat chagrined to know he used a permanent marker on my skin. I giggle as I tell him not to worry about, that as long as it washes off before the school year starts back, then I'm not concerned.

* * *

><p>Over dinner and beers in a local microbrewery, Edward and I pick up where we left off the previous evening. Conversation flows easily, and my cheeks almost hurt from all the smiling I'm doing. Edward is shocked, and slightly horrified, to learn I've been to very few live music gigs, so he regales me with stories of different artists and bands he's seen, both whilst on tour and at home in London. He tells me he likes to go see local bands playing whilst he's on tour, usually spending the evenings he's not playing himself, out watching someone else.<p>

Eventually the conversation turns to myself, and I cheerfully tell Edward about my teaching position; my love of English literature, my delight in seeing the kids 'get it', and my frustrations in dealing with teenagers day in day out. Edward laughs and regales me with some of his own tales of terrorising his teachers throughout his high school career. I shudder, and laughingly admit that I'll be happy if I never have a student like him. I tell him about growing up in Phoenix, about moving to Forks when Mom decided she and Phil wanted to live in Antipodean hippy compounds, and about living in Seattle whilst at college.

He eventually asks about Jacob and I give him a brief explanation of our enforced acquaintance as teenagers. I tell him how I turned Jake down the first time he proposed, insisting I wanted to finish college first. I explain Jake's need to travel frequently as his company seeks work. I tell him about the few things we have in common; an affinity for the water, and a love of road trips. Edward asks me if I'm glad I married young and I equivocate, telling him I don't regret it, but that it is more of a challenge than I anticipated. He asks if I think we'll have children young as well, and I shake my head vehemently. I explain that I barely feel like an adult myself sometimes, that I want to see some of the world, take some risks and live a little before I become a mother. Edward, astutely, asks if Jacob and I are on the same page, and I reluctantly admit that if it were up to Jake that we would have had children as soon as we married.

Edward, in turn, tells me about growing up in a small town in the south of England. He tells me about picking up a guitar at the age of seven and never letting go. He tells me about moving to London as soon as he was done with school, about playing every open mic night he could until he sang him self hoarse and had to learn to better pace himself. He tells me about his little sister Katie, and that she's the only reason he hasn't made a permanent move to the States. He thinks he'd like to live in Portland, and I smile as I tell him I was thinking the same thing whilst I was there last week.

Eventually, we duck back into a cab to head back to the gig. In contrast to the previous evening, there are no tables and chairs, just a steadily filling up dance floor. Edward uses his height and physical size to secure us a good spot; I laugh as he keeps his hands on his hips, his elbows pointing outwards to keep people from encroaching too closely into our space.

When Hey Marseilles take the stage, time takes on a Dali-esque mutability, blurring past too quickly, and then occasionally seeming to come to a complete standstill. I find myself swaying and dancing, my hands in the air, enjoying the seven piece band's passionate blend of poetic meanderings, soulful melancholia and youthful enthusiasm. The strings, brass and accordion make the music swell around me in lush waves of sound. I almost forget Edward's presence, and am startled when he leans in from behind me to point out that the tune they're starting is his favourite. I grin over my shoulder at him as I recognise the beginning of _Gasworks_. A little while later, I turn around to point out to him that my favourite tune is playing, a newer song called _Café Lights_.

All too soon, the band is finishing up, and as they leave the stage, I let out a heavy sigh. I turn around to face Edward and he grins down at me.

"Did you enjoy that, Bella? Are you glad I made you come with me?"

"Absolutely." I beam at him. "I'm just sad it's already over."

Edward nods in agreement, then frowns and starts digging in his pocket. He produces his phone and I realise he must have felt it vibrating. He reads a text message, which causes his mouth to curl up into a smirk, before he looks up at me thoughtfully.

"Are you tired Bella?"

"Dude, I woke up at 5:30 this evening, what do you think?"

"Fair enough," Edward laughs and places his hand on the small of my back as he navigates us toward the exit.

"Come on then. Let's go drink some wine."

* * *

><p>Several hours later, Edward and I are sitting in a little booth at an upmarket wine bar, working our way through the remains of our second bottle of wine. We've only paused our conversation to periodically sip at our glasses or to eat some delicious artisan cheeses. Our conversation has ranged across everything from music to sports, literature to philosophy, even religion and politics. We definitely don't agree on everything, and indeed we engage in several lengthy arguments, but with each disagreement, I find my respect of Edward growing. He's clearly a deep thinker; he's passionate, but compassionate, he has firm convictions, and yet remains open-minded.<p>

When the bar announces it's closing, we reluctantly step back out into the night. Sleeping the day away has completely messed with my body clock, and as I shrug my cardigan on against the cooler air of the early morning hours, I complain to Edward that it still feels like early evening. He just chuckles, and tucks me under his arm as we make our way back to the hotel. When we arrive back at the hotel, Edward shifts his weight from foot to foot nervously.

"I wrote you a song in Portland. Can I play it for you?" The words trip over one another as he rushes to get them out.

I'm stunned, and I stare at him for a few beats; I'm sure my mouth is frozen in an 'O' of surprise. He wrings his hands a little and I realize my silence is making him nervous.

"Of course. Um, wow. No one's ever written me a song before," I offer lamely.

We're quiet as we make our way to his room, and once he lets us in, Edward makes straight for his guitars. He snaps open one of the cases and picks up the guitar I've seen him play on stage. Once the guitar is in front of him, he visibly relaxes a bit, and I suspect there's some sort of security and comfort he takes from its familiarity.

I sink down in the armchair, whist he perches himself on the coffee table, tuning his guitar and fingering a few notes.

"Uh, right. So, after the show in Portland I locked myself up in the green room there for about forty-five minutes and wrote this. I had this image of you crying whilst I played and, I dunno, it just inspired me. I, erm, I've gathered there's a lot of sadness in you that you try to hide. And I, well, I feel like a right git having written this before I even knew you, but then the more I know you, the more I think this just fits you." He shakes his head nervously and blows out a deep breath before he begins to play.

His fingers move over the strings, creating a complex and haunting melody. And then he begins to sing and his voice is like velvet and sandpaper. His guitar and his voice are a stark contrast, he plays a tune of despair and despondency and pain, but the words he sings and the warmth of his voice speak of hope and compassion and tenderhearted care. It's overwhelming, and I'm crying and trying to hang on to the words as he sings them, trying to comprehend the gentle encouragement he's weaving over such heart-wrenching sadness.

_Each tear that slides  
><em>_Down your alabaster cheek  
><em>_Cuts like the blade  
><em>_An angel like you shouldn't cry  
><em>

_I don't know why  
><em>_My words cause you such pain  
><em>_But I'll never sing again  
><em>_If that's what it takes_

_When you can't believe there is light and hope  
><em>_I'll hold a lantern and guide your path home_

_I don't know you  
><em>_But I can see that  
><em>_You are more than  
><em>_You think you are_

_I see your light  
><em>_It shines so brightly  
><em>_Burning up with life  
><em>_And love and hope_

_When you can't believe there is light and hope  
><em>_I'll hold a lantern and guide your path home_

_You can't see it  
><em>_But in time you will  
><em>_And until you can  
><em>_I'll point your way home_

_When you can't believe there is light and hope  
><em>_I'll hold a lantern and guide your path home_

By the time he draws his song to a close my body is shaking with contained emotion and tears are flowing freely down my face. I should be embarrassed, but I don't even have the presence of mind in my overwhelmed state to wipe the wetness from my cheeks. Instead, I feel them leave salty tracks down my face, dripping on to my collarbones and dampening my cardigan.

Edward puts his guitar down carefully, and stands up. Without saying anything, he pulls me to my feet and gathers me into his arms, holding me carefully as I continue to sob. I cry until my tears are exhausted and my throat aches. Eventually, feeling ashamed, I begin to pull away from Edward. He doesn't let me go, however, and when I look up into his face, I'm startled to see a single tear trailing down his scruffy cheek.

"You," I hesitate, "you wrote that after Portland?"

Edward nods, trying to discreetly wipe away the evidence of his emotion.

"I don't know Bella. It's nothing I've experienced before. I felt like when our eyes met I had this glimpse into your soul and it came out in music, without even any real conscious effort. The words just flowed and the melody came to me without any effort or any work and I hope you're not offended, but the song just completely wrote itself, and I know I can't possibly know you well enough to have that kind of insight into you -"

"Hey, slow down." I put my hand on his roughened cheek, and he closes his eyes briefly.

"It's okay Edward. Really. I don't exactly understand, because I'm not someone who can communicate with music, but I am touched by it. You couldn't possibly know it, but a few nights before your Portland show I had the most humiliating, degrading experiences of my entire life, and it was at the hands of the one person I ought to be able trust above all others. I, uh, that's why I reacted so strongly when you played _Walking Home_. That song has a great deal of history attached to it for me, and it's become an incredibly bittersweet reminder that everything isn't how it seems." I know I'm being vague but I'm not prepared to share details of my marriage with Edward at this point.

When he looks down at me, there is a moment of silent understanding, where I know he knows I'm not telling him everything, and I also know he won't push it. He holds me close for another moment, and then releases me, stepping back and immediately pushing his fingers through his hair.

"Will you play something else for me Edward?"

My request seems to catch Edward off-guard, and he blinks at me, before a genuine smile lights up his face. Rather than answer me, he places a gentle kiss on the top of my head, then resumes his perch on the coffee table. He reclaims his guitar and I curl back up in the armchair, tucking my feet up under me as I watch him tune his guitar. He plays half a dozen of his own songs for me, and I'm tempted to pinch myself to make sure I haven't drifted off into a very vivid dream in which I'm being treated to a private concert by my favourite artist. Edward then begins to mess around, and I realize the extent of his repertoire; he plays Bob Dylan and Nirvana, The Beatles and The Civil Wars; then totally floors me by picking out _Clair de Lune_ and _Moonlight Sonata_.

I glance out the window and see the first light of dawn beginning to streak across the sky. Edward puts down his guitar and we move out on to the balcony to watch the sun rise. We don't speak, and we don't need to. Instead we watch in silence as the inky darkness becomes streaked with purples and reds, and eventually lightening to reveal a pink and golden dawn. I muffle a yawn into my sleeve, realising I really need to get some sleep. I murmur this to Edward, and he immediately rises and guides me back to my room.

He leans against the wall as I unlock the door.

"I'm really glad you introduced yourself, Bella."

"I am too," I smile. "And, uh, I don't think I mentioned it, but, I have to go back to Portland later today, but I'll be in Vancouver next week for both of your shows."


	10. August 2010 Part 3

**Chapter 8: August 2010 Part 3.**

**A/N: Firstly, a huge thanks to everyone who has been reading, and especially to those who have reviewed. It breaks my heart that so many of you can relate to Bella's situation. But the fact that you've all spoken in past tense gives me hope. No one ever deserves to be made to feel they are nothing, especially by the person who has promised to love you above all others. If you are in an abusive relationship, you do not deserve it, and you do not have to put up with it. Please, please seek help!**

**Secondly, please be advised, this chapter contains guilt-induced, non-romantic sex.**

**Thirdly, whilst I have visited Vancouver, I'm claiming artistic license for anything I get wrong ;)**

**And finally, this is the last August '10 chapter. I don't want the story to seem like it's dragging, but I needed to establish the characters. The next few chapters will take us forward in time at a faster rate.**

* * *

><p>I sleep for a few hours, and then, all too quickly, I'm on the road back to Portland. I'm scared of the reaction I'm going to receive from Jacob, and I'm still dead tired from having stayed up the entire night. I can deal with the tiredness though, there's no amount of sleep I would trade for the evening I got to spend hanging out with Edward. I stop when I pass a Stumptown café, breathing out a sigh of relief that I won't have to force myself to endure subpar coffee just to get a caffeine hit. I jump out of my SUV to grab myself a doppio espresso that I swallow in one mouthful, as well as a pour-over brew of one of their Panama geisha lots.<p>

As I drive, sipping on the gloriously aromatic coffee, I practice what I ought to say to Jacob in my head. I decide I need to be firm, tell him that if he can't control what he says when he's drunk, that maybe he ought not go out drinking. I need to tell him that he's hurt me and betrayed me by sharing such intimate details with his workmates. I need to tell him how much it hurts when he tells me I'm not attractive: that as his wife, I ought to be his standard of beauty, rather than him constantly comparing me to every other woman around.

When I'm half an hour out of Portland, I remember I need to call Jacob's sister, Rachel, to see if their flat in Vancouver is free. The phone only rings a few times before her cheerful voice comes on the line.

"Hi Izzy."

"Hey Rach, how are you?" Jacob's twin sisters Rachel and Rebecca are a few years older than I, so they had already moved away to college when I first came to Forks. However, we've spent enough family holidays together that Rachel and I have established a reasonably cordial relationship. Rebecca is much more reserved, and I get the feeling she's never really approved of my relationship with Jake.

"I'm good sweetie. What's happening?"

"I'm just on my way to Portland. Jake and the boys are working there for a few weeks so I'm going to spend the afternoon and night with him."

"Geez, that sucks Iz – that's a long drive just for an afternoon. How long are they away for?"

"Um, probably three weeks, but possibly up to a month."

"Are you going to be okay home by yourself all that time?"

"Yeah, that's partly why I'm calling. I was wondering if your flat in Vancouver is free? It's still school holidays so I was thinking of spending the week up there, rather than sit around at home by myself."

"Ah, yeah it is actually. When were you thinking of going up?"

"Well, if it's possible, I'd like to drive up tomorrow, and I'll probably head back down to Forks on Friday. Then I'll be heading back to Portland for the weekend."

"Yeah, that's fine babe. Do you still have a copy of the key?"

"Yeah, I do." Jacob and I spent our honeymoon at Rachel's flat in Vancouver, and the key is still attached to my car keys.

"Cool, well, you know, help yourself, have fun and all that."

"Thanks Rach. How are you going?"

"Eh, can't complain too much. Though I broke up with Brady a few weeks ago. Stupid bastard thought it'd be okay to sleep with other women whilst he was seeing me. I'll tell you what Isabella; you're so lucky to have a good man like Jacob. They're few and far between. I know Jake's not perfect, but he'll never cheat on you, so don't you take him for granted."

"I know Rach."

"I'm serious Izzy. You do what you have to do to keep my brother happy, okay?"

"I do my best Rachel."

"Good girl. Okay, I gotta run honey, but enjoy your time in Vancouver, okay?"

"Sure. And thanks again."

As Rachel hangs up, I feel all my carefully mustered up bravado drain away. Guilt starts to creep in in its place. Rachel's right; Jacob is a good man. He'd never cheat on me. It's a particularly painful subject for the Black's; their mom left their dad for another man when they were teenagers. Rachel's forced nonchalance about Brady's unfaithfulness is merely a cover for the hurt she must be feeling, and is also the reason behind her stern warning to me to hold on to Jacob.

Suddenly, I feel sickened by all my blustering and planning for how I'm going to set Jacob in his place when I reach Portland. I should be thankful I'm married to a man I can trust to spend a few weeks in another town and know with certainty that he'll continue to be faithful to me. I'm ashamed of my self-centredness and selfishness. If Jacob doesn't find me attractive, then maybe it's because I'm not. Maybe I need to take more care with my appearance, maybe I do need to lose a few pounds. It can't be easy for Jacob to be having to work long hours and be stuck in the city a long way from where he considers home. I resolve to show him how much I appreciate the hard work he puts in so he can give us security for the future.

* * *

><p>By the time I'm close to the house the boys are renting in Portland, it's nearly lunchtime, so I stop at the grocery store to pick up some food. The chances are that they'll all just be beginning to crawl out of bed, nursing massive hangovers, so I grab all the ingredients I'll need to fix them fried chicken.<p>

I arrive back at the house, and as I carry the bags from the grocery store inside, I notice that the lawn really needs to be mowed. As I predicted, most of the boys are all still in bed, though I find Jacob in the kitchen brewing coffee. He greets me with a slight look of surprise and a soft kiss, and groans in appreciation when he figures out what I'm preparing for their lunch. As the smell of cooking fills the house, first Embry, then the rest of the guys, drag themselves into the kitchen. Two women I don't recognise also appear, and watching them discreetly, I gather that the blonde came home with Jared last night, though I'm not sure about the tiny dark-haired girl.

I shoot Jacob a look when the girl saunters past me and wraps her arms around Sam's waist. Jake shakes his head at me, his mouth set in a grim line, and I know that he is pissed off. Sam's wife Emily is at home in Forks, six months pregnant with their second child. I focus on my what cooking, rather than the disgust that's churning in my stomach. Rachel couldn't have been more right, Jacob would never cheat on me, and he'd certainly never parade it around in front of his mates so brazenly. Poor Emily, busy at home with their daughter and another baby on the way, whilst her husband screws around in another city.

I fry the chicken in batches, and quickly throw together a few different salads. Embry grabs plates, glasses and cutlery and sets the table, winking at me as he does so. When I finally place the fried chicken and salads on the table, talk ceases, and soon the only noises are the sounds of chewing and hums of appreciation.

When the boys' appetites are sated, conversation slowly begins again. Embry asks me a bit about my time in Seattle, and I ask how things are going at the construction site. Their chatter is lively, and they rag on each other constantly. The two girls don't seem to take too kindly to being excluded from the conversation; both throw me contemptuous glances, but it's the blonde one, who I think is named Kimmy, who speaks up first.

"So, Elizabeth, is it? I can't believe you cooked this chicken yourself. That's so, like, domestic, of you."

"It's Isabella, and yes, I suppose it is. But I don't think the boys mind too much though, do you?"

Jacob laughs at my response, slinging his arm across my shoulder.

"Izzy's very _domestic_, aren't you babe? Not only can she cook, but she can clean, and she sews and knits." He smirks at the girls and they giggle in response.

"Aw, what a good little housewife," coos the dark-haired girl. I'm not sure, but I think her name is Claire. Jacob merely chuckles in response.

I'm feeling a little wary. I'm not stupid, and I know these girls are making fun of me; I get that they clearly consider me inferior, and find the fact that I can keep house pathetic. What I'm uncertain about is Jacob's responses; I can't tell if he's poking fun at me or defending me.

I stay in my seat whilst Jacob and Embry start stacking the dishes and taking them back into the kitchen to load the dishwasher. Kimmy and Claire giggle and whisper together, occasionally shooting glances at me. When Jacob comes back to gather the glasses, Claire smirks at me, before following him into the kitchen. I ignore Kimmy's snickers as I gather up the salad bowls and follow after my husband.

As I'm about to walk into the kitchen, I hear Jacob's voice and I pause. I recognise his tone immediately; he's annoyed, _really_ annoyed.

"Look, Claire," he says harshly. "I am aware Izzy's not beautiful, nor does she have a bangin' body, and that she's not the most fun person to spend time with. But she is my wife. And, unlike Sam, I. Do. Not. Cheat. So fuck off, and leave me alone. I won't ask you again."

I continue into the kitchen, my heart pounding in my chest. Claire flounces past me, pouting, but refusing to look me in the eye. I shake my head in disgust. It's obvious she intended for me to hear her attempt to seduce Jacob, probably assuming he'd be flattered when offered the choice between her and my boring, 'domestic' self. The fact that Jake turned her down ought to comfort me, reassure me, but his dismissive words about my shortcomings leave a bitter taste in my mouth.

I place the bowls down on the counter with a clatter, and Jacob looks up from the dishwasher, startled. He quickly looks past me, then back into my face, and I realise he's wondering how much I heard.

"I heard all of it Jake. They made it pretty clear what they were trying to prove."

"You know I'll never cheat on you, right, Izzy?"

"Of course, Jacob." He smiles at my assurance and sidles up beside me.

"I've missed you," His breath is hot and humid on my neck. "Come on."

Jacob grabs my hand and starts pulling me upstairs towards the bedroom we share in the house. I open my mouth to protest when I realise what he's got in mind.

"We can't, Jake! Everyone's in the house. They might hear!"

"We'll be quiet, babe. Fuck Iz, it's been over a week. I need the release. I mean, come on, babe. I've just proved I'm faithful even when easy sluts proposition me, don't I deserve to have sex with my wife?"

I acquiesce, feeling guilty immediately. Jacob's right, I need to fulfil my wifely duty, he does deserve that of me. When we reach the bedroom, Jacob locks the door and starts stripping down. I follow suit quickly, still feeling the sting of guilt. It's only when Jacob suddenly grabs my arm that I remember that Edward's name is still emblazoned on to my skin.

"What the fuck, Izzy?" Before I can explain, Jacob is laughing.

"Did you write his name on your arm?"

"No. No! I didn't. Edward autographed me. I'm sorry, I didn't think." I quickly explain that I met Edward and that we spent some time chatting whilst I was in Seattle.

Jacob cuts me off quickly,

"Babe, it's fine, I don't care. It's not like you got him to sign your tits or something!"

I flush, mortified by the very suggestion.

"Of course I didn't. Jake, I'm sorry, I -"

Again, he cuts off my explanation, this time by pushing his hot, wet mouth against my own. He's pawing at my breasts, grappling with my bra straps, whilst shoving his tongue into my mouth. His large hands are everywhere, kneading and pulling at me, and he pushes me down on to the bed. My mind frantically searches for an arousing image, knowing that if I can't make my body respond, this could be a painful experience.

Jacob quickly reaches for some lubricant, before pushing his way inside me. I try to enjoy it, try to tell myself I should feel empowered by his neediness and his desperation for my body, but it's hard to get past the stinging sensation. I close my eyes, trying to conjure up something, anything, which will cause my body respond to his, as Jacob's thrusts increase in speed. Concentrating fiercely, I feel a vague wisp of heat start to curl within me; I struggle to cling to it, struggle to let the feeling build, but all too quickly, Jacob is shouting and panting.

"Yes, Izzy. Yes, Fuck! I'm coming, fuck yes!"

I watch, disappointed and embittered, as his face twists and contorts with his release. He shudders and shakes, before his eyes open and he smirks down at me lazily. He pulls himself away from me, disconnecting our bodies, and walks into the bathroom to clean himself up. When he re-enters the room, I'm still lying on the bed. He quickly throws his clothes back on, winking at me before he leaves the room.

I lay still on the bed, listening for any fuss as he re-enters the kitchen, and I breathe a sigh of relief when there is no increase to the level of murmuring I can make out from up here. I hop up, gingerly making my way into the en suite. I decide to shower, since I hadn't had time to before I left Seattle. The hot water is soothing, and I grab up the special soap Jacob uses to remove grease from his hands when he's been playing with engine parts. It makes quick work of Edward's autograph, and I feel a slight pang as I look down at my now clean arm.

I grab my body-wash and apply the lather to the rest of my body, wincing slightly as the bubbles drip downwards. There's a slight stinging that hasn't abated and I realise I must have torn ever so slightly. It's not the first time and it won't be the last, and I'm feeling relieved I'll be in Vancouver for the week. At least that way I can heal properly before Jacob gets frustrated with my reluctance to be intimate with him. I wonder vaguely how women manage to have sex as frequently as I'm lead to believe; maybe I'm doing something wrong. I wish futilely that I had someone I could ask about such things.

When I am dried and redressed, I decide I really need another nap after my virtually sleepless night. I retrieve my phone, intending to use it to set an alarm, and I smile when I see I have a text from Edward.

**From Edward Cullen:  
><strong>**Drive safely Bella. Have fun in Portland. Let me know when you arrive in Van. E x**

I smile as I respond to his text.

**From Bella Black:  
><strong>**I'm safe in Portland. Leaving for Van 2moro morning. B x**

I plug my phone into its charger, pull the covers over myself and quickly drift off into a restful sleep.

* * *

><p>When I awake two hours later, it's to find Jacob sitting on the edge of the bed.<p>

"Hey babe," he smiles as I open my bleary eyes.

"Hi," I rasp, my voice thick with sleep. I sit up, trying to orient myself. I think it's late afternoon, but I could be wrong.

"What time is it?" I wonder aloud.

"Ah, it's about 4:30." Jake replies. He pulls the covers off the bed and extends his hand to me.

"I love you, Izzy."

"I love you too Jake."

He pulls me into a hug, and I realise this is his apology for last weekend's drunkenness. Jacob doesn't ever verbalise his apologies, and I have to be content with what he does offer me instead.

"You don't mind cooking dinner for everyone do you, babe?"

"No, that's fine Jake. I'll just have run into town and grab some more groceries."

When we head downstairs, I'm relieved to see Kimmy and Claire have left. Jacob is still visibly furious with Sam, but is keeping his mouth shut. I assume he's trying to respect his boss, and I follow his lead, though there is a large part of me that wants to let him know exactly how disgusted I am by his actions.

Instead, I climb into my SUV and head off to procure the groceries I'll need for this evening's meal, as well as enough food to stock the pantry for the next week.

* * *

><p>I'm on the road to Vancouver by lunchtime on Monday. I plan to leave earlier, but Jacob asks me to mow the lawn, and clean the bathrooms and kitchen, before I leave. I'm slightly annoyed, until Jacob points out that I'm flitting around the Northwest on my holidays, whilst they're all working six-day weeks. Feeling slightly ashamed of my selfishness, I bite my tongue on my objections and set to work.<p>

It's about a six-hour drive from Portland to Vancouver; depending on how many breaks I take. Fortunately, I really enjoy long drives; I enjoy the quiet, the opportunity to think, and in this case, the opportunity to surround myself with music that makes my soul soar. I set my iPod to shuffle, and my car is filled with the various voices that keep me company along the way. My mind keeps trying to return to my dissatisfaction with my marriage, but I firmly push the thought away each time, refusing to indulge that selfish, discontented side of myself.

When I reach Vancouver it's already after 7pm, and I stop quickly for groceries, before making my way to Rachel's flat, which is across the Burrard Inlet, in North Vancouver. When I arrive I open the place up, letting some fresh air in, before texting Edward. He calls me back almost immediately, telling me he's got to do a few radio interviews and performances early tomorrow morning, and then he has sound check for tomorrow night's gig. He is apologetic and I tell him not to be silly, he has to do his job after all. I tell him I'll stick around after his set tomorrow night, and wish him luck, before we end the call.

* * *

><p>I sleep late the next morning, and take my time getting ready for the day. I eventually wander down toward the harbour to enjoy coffee and an early lunch at a little café. I spend a few pleasant hours exploring the north shore before I decide to take the Seabus across to the Downtown area. I spend a few more hours wandering around downtown, stopping occasionally for a coffee, or to just sit and watch people going about their day.<p>

Edward's playing at a venue on Granville Island, and when the afternoon starts to fade; I jump on a bus that will take me down there. Whilst the bus is making its way down Granville St, I'm surprised to receive a text from Edward.

**From Edward Cullen:  
><strong>**Just about to start sound-check. Leah wonders if you want to meet her at the GI brewery?**

I respond quickly, grateful for some company.

**From Bella Black:  
><strong>**I'm on a bus to Granville Island. Tell her I'll be there in about 10. B x**

**From Edward Cullen:  
><strong>**She'll meet you there. I gave her your no. Hope that's ok. P.S. Pick a song, any song, for me to play for you 2nite.**

My fingers hover over the keypad as I contemplate his request. About forty thousand different ideas all tumble into my head at once. I contemplate making a ridiculous request just to make him laugh, but decide I can't squander the gift he's giving me like that. Inspiration hits and I quickly respond.

**From Bella Black:  
><strong>**Is a cover okay? How about Bob Dylan's 'A Simple Twist of Fate'?**

It only takes Edward a few seconds to respond.

**From Edward Cullen:  
><strong>**Perfect.**

* * *

><p>Leah is waiting for me when I reach the Granville Island Brewery. We share a tasting paddle, sampling the different beers and chatting like old friends. It's simple, surface level conversation, but it flows easily. We agree that we favour the Kitsilano Maple Cream Ale, and end up drinking several more glasses of it, before we decide it's time to wander back to watch Edward's set at the lounge he's playing in.<p>

Edward is already on stage when we make our way in, still giggling, He looks up from where he is tuning his guitar, and I can see him smirk and roll his eyes at us as we stumble in. We find ourselves somewhere to sit, though Leah bounces off almost immediately, declaring she needs chips - it takes me a moment to realize she means fries.

Edward starts to play, and I'm immediately captivated; his voice is sin and silk, honey and grit*. His hands move skillfully across the strings of his guitar and time loses all meaning for me. At some point Leah returns with a basket of fries, and I shush her when she tries to make conversation. This is the fourth time I've seen Edward on stage, and each time he brings something different to the performance. He has the crowd captivated, and cheerfully takes a few requests; though when someone calls out for him to play _Walking Home_, he shakes his head and tells the girl "not tonight, sorry".

All too quickly, he's wrapping up his set.

"Uh, thanks for being such a great crowd tonight. It's great being back in Canada," he grins.

"I'm playing here again on Thursday, so bring some friends and come back then. Okay then, uh, this last one is for my friend, Bella." He sends a wink in my direction before he begins to play the Dylan tune I requested. As I had expected, he makes the tune his own, though he does manage a hilarious Dylan impersonation for the first verse. He brings the song to a close, thanking the crowd once again before he disappears through the curtains at the back of the stage.

"He'll be back out in about fifteen minutes," Leah observes.

"He'll sign shit for about an hour, and then I'm sure he'll come looking for you."

"Uh, okay then."

Leah looks at me appraisingly before she speaks again.

"I'm going to take off, darling. I'll see you later, okay?" She blows a kiss in my direction before sauntering out of the club, leaving me slightly stunned, and a little lost.

I watch Edward re-emerge from backstage, only to be immediately swamped by his adoring fans. I wonder briefly at the flash of annoyance I feel; but I suppress it instantly. If I'm going to be friends with Edward, I'm going have to get used to the fact that I'm not his only fan.

As it happens, it's only forty-five minutes before Edward signs the last autograph, and his eyes start to scan the room. When he spots me, his green eyes light up, and he immediately begins to make his way toward me. He greets me with a kiss on the cheek and a gentle squeeze of my hand.

We exchange greetings, briefly catching up on the last few days, before we are interrupted by Edward's phone chiming at him. He reads a text message quickly, before cocking his head at me uncertainly.

"That was Lee. Some of my friends are in town, and they want to know if we want to go meet them for a few drinks. I completely understand if you don't want to, but I'd love to introduce you to them all."

"Really? Are you sure? I mean, you only just met me ..? I'm fine with just heading back to my flat if you want to go spend time with your friends." I say, staring at my hands. I'm nervous about meeting Edward's friends, and I'm not sure about tagging along if I'm not exactly invited.

Edward gently puts a finger under my chin and tilts my face to force me look up at him. He frowns at me, his green eyes showing concern.

"I'd love for you to come, dearest." He looks away, and scrubs at his beard. "I know it's weird, I know we only just met, but I dunno, I feel like I've known you for ages, yeah? I already consider you a good friend, darling. And I'd love you to meet some more of the people who are important to me." He trails off, looking unsure of himself, and I feel bad for making him worry.

"Okay then."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. I feel the same Edward, like we've known each other for ages, even though we don't know a lot_ about_ each other. So, sure, I'd love to meet your friends. I have to warn you though, I tend to get overwhelmed in unfamiliar social situations, so I'll probably spend a lot of time blushing and stammering and generally freaking out."

"Don't worry Bella, I won't leave your side all night if it will make it easier for you. They can seem a bit intimidating, and they're all slightly mental, but they're good people, you'll see."

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, Edward and I are stepping out of a cab in front of a palatial looking hotel. Shit. Why didn't I make <em>that<em> connection about Edward's 'friends'? All too soon, I'm being ushered into a stunning penthouse suite, the plush fittings of which are oddly contrasted by the loud, brash conversations being had in predominantly British accents. Edward introduces me to a few people, and I'm greeted with easy familiarity. Someone shoves a beer into my hands at some point. It's a little overwhelming to be honest, and I forget most people's names as soon as they introduce themselves.

Edward's gentle touch on the small of my back suddenly disappears as the largest man I have ever seen envelops him in a hug.

"Emmett!" Edward pounds on the giant's back and the big guy merely grins in response.

"Aren't you supposed to be shooting?" Edward asks, still looking shocked from having the breath squeezed out of him.

"Aye, but some of the lads in the, uh, actually I dunno which department they're in … anyway, someone is pitching a fit about something so we've been delayed by about a week. And as Lee-lee told us you were playing up here this week, we thought we'd take the chance to visit."

I take advantage of their discussion to study the big guy, who I assume to be Emmett McCarty. He's huge, obviously, built like a wrestler, but his enormous muscles are contrasted by his sweet, dimpled smile. His dark hair is cropped close to his head, and his blue eyes sparkle with mischief. I'll admit, I can almost see why the guy has insane fans following him everywhere; he's certainly very good looking.

"You must be Bella." A softer Scottish accent startles me, and I whirl around to see a tall, blonde woman appraising me. She's easily the most stunning woman I've ever laid eyes on. She has the jealousy-inducing figure of a swimsuit model, her long blonde hair cascades in waves down her back, and her eyes are a shocking violet.

"Yes, I am." I extend my hand to her, and she looks at it disdainfully. Surprising the hell out of me, she pulls me into a tight embrace. Suddenly, I remember my conversation with Edward from a few days prior.

"You're Rosalie, right? Wait! I've seen you in a film!" I say excitedly, "You were in that biopic of Robbie Burns, yes?"

Rosalie looks at me, startled, and I begin to think I've made a mistake. My chagrin must show on my face, and she is quick to reassure me.

"Yes, I was. I'm sorry; you just took me by surprise, dearest. I was just surprised anyone outside o' Scotland had seen it; especially a young American lass like yourself."

"Are you kidding me? Burns is one of my favourite poets!"

I suddenly realise the room has gone silent. I look over at Edward, and he quirks an eyebrow at me.

"Welsh _and_ Scottish poetry, Bella?"

"Irish also; I love Yeats." I tease, and Edward snorts with amusement.

"Well that's just brilliant," inserts Leah, who, I hadn't noticed previously, is sitting across the room in the lap of a lanky blonde guy. His name may or may not have been Alec.

"She had absolutely no idea who Em was, but she recognises Rose from some obscure indie film." I blush at Leah's revelation, but the giant just grins at me, his dimples evident in his amusement.

Edward takes the opportunity to introduce me properly to Rosalie and Emmett, explaining to me that they all shared a flat together when Edward first moved to London.

Just like that, this crazy group of Scots and Brits immediately accept me. Edward, true to his word, lingers by my side, introducing me to the people I've not yet met, and checking I'm not feeling too overwhelmed.

* * *

><p>By 2am, Rosalie and I well acquainted and are chattering about the advantages of marrying young. I'm tipsy from consuming all the beers and whiskey shots people keep pressing on me, and the result is that I'm being more honest than I usually would be, even with myself.<p>

"You know what's sad, though?" I say, looking at Rosalie with all the seriousness that can only be mustered by someone who's had a few too many shots of whiskey.

"I'm nearly 24 and I'll never get to feel that fluttery feeling of falling in love again. Those tingles of realising you're attracted someone, and the overwhelming feeling when you realise they return your affections."

"You don't have butterflies anymore?" Rosalie looks surprised, and her almost-purple eyes struggle to focus on me through all the beer and whiskey she's consumed.

"You don't get them when he comes home early from work with a dozen roses, just because? Or when he ignores every other woman in the room because he's so entranced by you? Or when he can't keep his hands off you and you end up having crazy hot sex in a public place and he makes you climax so many times you think you won't be able to take any more?"

I blink at her.

"Uh, I can't say I've ever experienced any of those things. Jake says flowers are a waste of money because they'll just die in a few days anyway. And anyway, I'm anorgasmic." I shrug. I know I ought not be having this conversation with someone I met a few hours ago, but right now I'm too drunk to care.

"No way." Rosalie breathes. "Is that what he tells you, you poor lass?"

"Who tells me what?" I wonder, yawning hugely.

Edward, seeing me yawn, decides it's time to take me home. I agree cheerfully, though it's quite possible I'd agree to just about anything right now. He rides with me in the cab, despite my protests that heading over to the north shore is clearly going out of his way. When we arrive at Rachel's flat, Edward sees me safely inside, reminds me to message him when I wake up, and brushes a gentle kiss on my cheek before he wishes me a soft goodnight.

I slide into bed fully clothed, and I'm asleep before I even manage to pull the covers over myself.

* * *

><p><strong>I struggled a bit with keeping this chapter flowing, but rather than spending ages fiddling around with it, I thought I'd post it and keep moving forward. As I've mentioned, the next few chapters will move us forward in time a bit faster.<strong>

*** I didn't come up with that. I borrowed it from a review regarding another British singer/songwriter whom I absolutely adore.**


	11. October  November 2010

**Chapter 9: October – November 2010**

**A/N: Okay, so we're moving forward more quickly now that we've met everyone. **

**Please stick with me; Bella's about to go through a really tough time, but I promise, there is light at the end of the tunnel. Edward's song from two chapters ago is both prophetic and a promise, okay?**

* * *

><p><strong>OCTOBER. <strong>

In many ways, not much has changed in the last few months. I get up, I go to work, I keep house, I cook dinner, I mark essays, I go to bed, I let Jacob use my body to fulfill his sexual needs. Day in, day out, these things remain the same.

But there is also a growing list of things that are different of late; things that have changed slowly and subtly, but markedly, nonetheless. My vegetable gardens are looking slightly unloved, my sewing machine is covered in a fine layer of dust, and I seem to cook from the same roster of meals week in and week out. Jacob and I rarely argue anymore; I don't have the energy to disagree with him. I crave the peacefulness, so it takes something extreme for me to rouse from the daze I seem to be living in.

Getting out bed each morning becomes a major battle. I don't know exactly when that changes; when I go from a cheerful early-riser to someone who has to forcibly drag herself out of the sweet oblivion of sleep to face another day.

I've called in sick to work with increasing frequency this semester, unable to face the thought of standing in front of a classroom of teenagers all day. Last year I only missed four days in the entire year.

Music rarely fills our house in the hours I'm at home; somehow it no longer provides the escape it once did.

And then there are the tears.

I cry a lot.

I cry when I wake up. I cry as I'm getting ready for work. I cry in the shower. I cry as I drive home from work. I cry as I make dinner. I cry when Jacob rolls off me, sweaty and satisfied. I cry when I wake up in the middle of the night, struggling to breathe.

I don't know why I cry. But I do. All the fucking time.

* * *

><p>Jacob is frustrated with me. He is tired of my lack of responsiveness, and he threatens to pull out my vegetable gardens if I don't tend to them. He learns to take the garbage bins out to the curb on collection night, after I forget for the third week in a row. He learns to start preparing, or purchasing, his own lunches when I continually fail to get out of bed before he has to leave for work. 'Useless' and 'lazy' become the most common adjectives he tosses me way. When he finds me crying, he huffs and rolls his eyes, asking me when I turned into such a girl. He tells me to think positively, to stop feeling sorry for myself; he points out how comfortable our lives are and when, on occasion, his frustration boils over and he loses his temper, he shouts "What more do you want?" I tell him that I don't know, and then I cry some more.<p>

Work continues to require Jacob spend weeks in Portland, Seattle, and Olympia. Sometimes he commutes; sometimes he lives on site until the job is finished. He begins to choose the latter option more often and I suspect it is because he relishes the escape from my apathetic presence in the house.

Alice notices the frequency of my absences from work, and I tell her I'm just feeling rundown all the time. She prods me to see a doctor, concerned I might have chronic fatigue syndrome. I resist, telling her that I'm sure it will pass.

In time, to head off Jacob's frustration and Alice's concern, I become skilled at hiding my sadness. I stop taking days off work. I learn to smile when I don't want to; I learn the vocal inflections I need to use to make people think I'm cheerful. I learn the quickest way to change the subject away from my own well-being is to ask my friends about their own concerns. I become everyone's rock; their shoulder to cry on, their listening ears.

Edward calls and texts me regularly from the road; he keeps me updated with where he's at, tells me amusing anecdotes from each stop on his tour, and shares new music discoveries he's made along the way. He tells me about the girl who shows up naked in his dressing room in Denver, about the suitcase full of who-knows-what he's now travelling with as girls press their tokens on him for Emmett. When he's in Santa Fe, he tells me that Leah is dating the lanky blonde guy, Alec; by Dallas, she's contemplating moving back to London with him. When he's in New Orleans, I confide in him that I haven't listened to any new music in weeks. Edward admits he's been concerned for me for weeks, and he begs me to open up, to someone, anyone. He doesn't push me, when I dissemble, but he tells me he'll be waiting to listen when I'm ready to tell him what's going on.

* * *

><p>"Izzy? I'm home!"<p>

"I'm in the kitchen, Jacob." I'm sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of tea clutched between my hands. Jake saunters in, having kicked off his filthy shoes at the front door.

"Hey there, Chanel." He leans down and places a kiss on my cold cheek.

"Chanel?"

"Yeah, you know, you're my Chanel No. 5."* Jacob snickers at his own cleverness.

It takes me a minute to respond.

"Right. I'm a five out of ten. What would you be, Jake?" He actually considers this seriously for a while.

"I think I'm a least an eight." He's probably right; he's an attractive guy.

"So what's for dinner, Izzy?"

"Uh, I thought we could have takeout. I'm pretty tired."

"Seriously? What, so you had to read some books and mark some essays today? Fuck, Izzy. I've hauled several thousand pounds of cement mix around today, and you wanna tell me you're too tired to cook?"

"I'm sorry Jacob. I don't know what's wrong with me at the moment."

"I think you're just being self-indulgent Isabella. Stop telling yourself how tired you are, how miserable you are and you'll find you feel a lot better."

I look at my hands, desperately fighting the tears that threaten to fall.

"Maybe you're right, Jacob." I agree, hoping it will prevent an argument.

"I could make beef stroganoff, if you'd like?" I offer quietly. I hope that suggesting one of his favourite meals will improve the atmosphere that's descended over the house.

"Yeah, that sounds good, Iz. Thanks." He kisses the top of my head and I cling to the gesture as proof that he does still harbour some affection for me.

"Oh, Jake," I remember something as I force myself to stand up to start preparing our meal.

"Alice and Jasper are having a dinner party on Friday night and they'd like us to come. Do you think we could go?"

"Who else is going?"

"Uh, Tanya and her new boyfriend, Angela and Ben, Mike and Jess, and Lauren and Connor. Tyler was going to come, but he's on night shift I think." In short, Alice has invited almost everyone in our peer group in Forks.

Jacob considers it briefly, before nodding his head.

"Yeah, we should go. You should make a pie or something to take, Iz. I'll pick up a bottle of wine on my way home from work."

* * *

><p>"Hey Izzy, Jacob, I'm so glad you guys could make it!"<p>

Alice ushers us inside, and I hand her the banoffee pie I've made, as per Jake's request. As she thanks me, Jacob hands her the bottle of Bourgogne he's carrying. They chatter away about the differences between old and new world wines, and I find myself zoning out, even though wine was once something I took a keen interest in.

Around the dining table, Jacob is the life of the party. He tells jokes, serves out portions of food to people, tops up empty glasses, and continually compliments Alice on her culinary skills. I pick at my food, my appetite non-existent, as my peers exchange anecdotes and catch up on each other's news.

I nearly fall off my chair when Jacob suddenly nudges me in the ribs halfway through the main course. I look at him in question, and his grin is forced as he jokes that my mind must have wandered off.

"Izzy, babe, Jessica was just asking you about how your Senior English class is doing?"

"Oh, right. Sorry Jess. Uh, they're great, really. It's an AP class, so most of the students are very motivated – "

"Of course they're motivated, when they have you turning up to class every day," Jacob grins at me, and his compliment confuses me. I force a smile as a chorus of "aww" arises from the women seated around the table.

Jacob insists on helping Jasper clear the table, waving away Alice's attempts to clean up. He tells her to sit down and relax, reminding her that the cook should never have to clean up. Alice winks at me from across the table as she acquiesces, sitting back down and refilling her wineglass.

"Oh my goodness Iz, you are so lucky to have landed a guy like Jacob!" exclaims Tanya, as soon as he is out of earshot.

"I know, right?" chimes in Jessica, "He's not only unbelievably hot, but he's so funny."

"And he seems so thoughtful and considerate," adds Lauren.

"Yeah, he's a great guy. I don't know what I did to deserve him." I agree weakly.

"Why can't you be more like that?" Angela pretends to grumble at Ben, giggling as she pokes him in the side. He chuckles, poking her back, but he takes the hint, and cheerfully rises from his seat, taking a stack of dirty dishes with him into the kitchen.

With the table cleared, Jacob reappears from the kitchen, carrying the banoffee pie and a tub of vanilla bean ice-cream, and smiling brightly. As he boasts about my cooking abilities to the table at large, my smile is forced and tastes bitter.

I'm confused by Jacob's compliments. Amongst our friends, he seems affectionate and considerate, and even somewhat proud of me. As I puzzle over why he's not like this at home, it occurs to me that perhaps he's overly critical of me in private because there are just so many areas of my life that I need to work on. When we're out in public, it wouldn't be appropriate to be correcting me, so he pretends to be proud of me, to save me the humiliation of everyone knowing just how hopeless I truly am. Somehow, though, the thought provides me no comfort.

I excuse myself from the table, needing a moment away from the conversation and general rowdiness occurring over dessert and a bottle of vintage port.

I take my time in the bathroom, steeling myself to continue to socialize. The act I've perfected works, but it's completely exhausting. These days, just being around people drains the energy right out of me. I take a deep breath and step out of the bathroom, only to collide with Alice's small frame.

"Oh shit. I'm so sorry Alice." She waves a hand dismissively, but cocks her head as she studies me.

"Things with you and Jacob seem to be wonderful now." Her observation knocks the wind out of me; it's like a punch in the gut to have people continue to observe how great he is when inwardly I'm starving for his kindness and affection.

"Oh. Oh yes. No, it's great. Really. He's a great guy."

Alice stares me down until I start to fidget under her stern gaze.

"Bullshit."

"Uh, what?"

"Bull. Shit. I'm calling your bluff, Isabella. He's got everyone in there eating out of the palm of his hand, but I'm not stupid, honey. I know you too well, and I've never seen you more downcast and downtrodden. I've watched you go from bad to worse, and I'm calling bullshit."

I'm completely taken off guard by Alice's vehemence and I freeze, panicking. She takes in my terrified expression, and her eyes soften.

"Oh Izzy." She says nothing further but wraps me in a fierce hug. Her easy affection breaks me and the tears begin to fall. I stuff my fist in my mouth to stifle the sobs that are wracking my body, and Alice strokes my hair, making soft, soothing noises as I cry.

"Izzy? What's up? Are you unwell?" Jacob's voice is loud and catches me by surprise. As I stiffen in her arms, I hear Alice curse under her breath.

"Do you have a migraine coming on, Izzy? You took a long time in the bathroom."

"Uh, yes, sorry Jacob. My head's absolutely throbbing."

"Oh, that's awful babe. Come on, let's get you home." I feel Jacob remove me from Alice's embrace, and he tucks me under his own arm.

"Thanks for your concern, Alice. I'm really glad Izzy has a friend like you." Jacob's smiles down at her, and she is quick to grin back at him.

"Oh, of course Jacob. How could one not simply _adore_ Izzy? She's a very special woman, though, of course, you know that."

"Better than anyone, Alice." Jacob begins to move me down the hallway away from our hostess.

"Well, thanks for inviting us Alice, but I really better get Izzy home to get some rest." Jake continues to pull me forward as he makes our excuses.

"Would you apologise to everyone else for our abrupt departure? I'd go say our goodbyes, but I think Izzy really needs to get home, and she's always my first priority." Jacob smiles down at me, and then looks back at Alice. She smiles back at him, but there is no warmth in her regard.

"Sure, sure Jacob. I'm sure they'll all understand. I'll just see you out." She ignores Jacob's assurances that we can see ourselves out, and follows along behind us, out the front door, and all the down to the curb where my SUV is parked.

When we reach the car, Jacob opens the door for me and helps me to climb in. As he makes his way to the driver's side, I finally look back at Alice, and her expression is full of such compassion and concern that it causes fresh tears to begin to fall.

Jacob is silent the entire journey home, and I am absolutely terrified. The disapproval is practically rolling off him in waves, and I'm waiting for him to explode, waiting for him to rant and rave at me - even though I'm not exactly sure what it is that he's annoyed about.

The explosion never comes.

When we arrive home, Jake leads me upstairs, helps me undress for bed and tucks the covers around me with disconcerting gentleness. It's only then that he finally speaks.

"I don't want you to spend time with Alice any more, Isabella. I overheard her saying some really vicious, awful things about you earlier this evening. I don't know who she thinks she was fooling with her 'I'm so concerned for Izzy' act, but you need to believe me, she's not a good friend for you." Without waiting for my response, Jacob flicks the light off and closes the door, leaving me alone and confused in the sudden darkness.

I lie awake for hours, puzzling over the evening. I'm confused and frightened. Jacob still hasn't come to bed when I finally drift off in the early hours of the morning.

* * *

><p>"Hi Bella! How are you?"<p>

"I'm okay, Edward."

"You sound a bit flat, dearest."

"Yeah. I am a bit."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"No, not really. I just wanted to hear your voice. Where are you?"

"Chicago. I love it here!"

"You're really zigzagging your way across the US, huh?"

"Absolutely. Not long to go now, dearest; I go back down to Cincinnati, Knoxville, and Atlanta. After that it's just Charleston, Philly and New York City. I'll be back in Portland or Seattle for Christmas."

"Are your family coming over?"

"Yeah, they're all coming across the pond for the holidays."

"That will be nice. I bet you can't wait to see them."

"Yeah, I miss them a lot. What about you, Bella? Are you going to see your mum for the holidays?"

"No. Um, it's just too expensive to fly to Australia. We talked about it, but Jacob says we really can't make it work. So we'll spend Christmas with his Dad and sisters, and I think we'll see my Dad on Boxing Day."

"That must be hard, yeah? Not seeing your mum very often."

"I miss her so much, Edward. But Jake doesn't really like her very much. He thinks she's a bad influence on me, so we haven't seen her since she flew back here for our wedding."

"Your mum's a bad influence on you?"

"Uh, yeah, she's a bit flighty and impulsive, I guess -"

"ISABELLA? I'm home, babe. Where are you?"

"Hey, Edward, I, uh, I've got to go."

"No problem, love. I'll talk to you soon."

"Bye Edward."

* * *

><p>Following Alice and Jasper's dinner party, Jacob suddenly takes a much keener interest in my life. Even when he's working out of town, he makes an effort to be home as much as possible. He likes to know all sorts of details about my day; what I did, who I talked to, what I spent money on, how I used my time. Sometimes I feel like I'm being audited each evening, but I quickly reprimand myself for the thought. I ought to be grateful my husband takes such a keen interest in everything I do and think and say.<p>

We are at odds over my friendship with Alice. Reassured and buoyed by her proclamation of friendship a few months ago, as well as her very visible concern and care for me, I stand firm when Jacob tells me he thinks she is a bad friend. He screams at me, accusing me of calling him a liar when he tells me she was saying awful things behind my back at her party. I tell him, calmly, that I don't think he's lying, just that he must have misheard. It's exhausting, having to defend Alice to Jacob all the time, and eventually I resort to doing something that completely disgusts me. I lie.

At first, it's lies of omission; when I tell him I spent my lunch break in my office, I don't mention that Alice came to eat with me in the English staffroom. When I tell him I'm going to spend my Saturday morning shopping in Port Angeles, I don't tell him that Alice is coming with me.

Soon, it's outright dishonesty. When he asks me if I've seen Alice lately, I lie and tell him I haven't had time to catch up with her. I tell him I have an after school in-service when Alice decides to drag me along to see a movie. My dishonesty disgusts me, but some strange sense of self-preservation has kicked in. I need my friendship with Alice. I know it will only be a matter of time before Jacob finds out that I'm lying to him. I refuse to contemplate the possible consequences.

Alice doesn't mention my relationship with Jacob. She tries, the first time I see her after her dinner party, but I tell her I'm not ready to talk about it. It's the truth. What do I say? Everyone thinks my husband is so amazing, but he's mean to me? My husband thinks I'm useless and lazy? My husband doesn't want me spending time with you? It sounds juvenile, so I choose, instead, to keep my silence. Alice tells me she'll respect my privacy, but that she'll always listen if I need her to.

* * *

><p><strong>NOVEMBER<strong>

Things take a turn for the worse as the weather starts to get colder. Forks, usually so green and lush, seems to take on a dull grey hue. Winter is shaping up to be colder than usual, and the icy winds and biting rain force everyone to stay indoors. At the start of the month, Jacob has a week off work. It's a nightmare. He follows me around in the hours I'm at home, criticizing and complaining. I don't vacuum thoroughly enough, I haven't washed the windows properly, do I really think I ought to wear that ugly top with that pair of pants?

Twice I lash out in frustration, begging him to please, please, just shut the hell up. Twice he responds by calling me a 'psychotic bitch', and telling me I'm becoming just like Renee. He tells me I'm unfit to ever be a mother, that I'd screw my children up every bit as badly as Renee has ruined me.

After that, I simply endure his criticisms. The easiest way to tolerate them is to tell myself that he's right. That I _am_ lazy … and sloppy … and useless. If I make myself believe the insults, they're easier to endure. It's not that he's being hurtful; it's just that he's trying to make me see my weaknesses. By the end of the week, I'm utterly convinced of my own worthlessness, and I'm an absolute wreck.

When Jacob returns to work the next Monday, I call in sick. I spend the day curled up in my bed, alternating between crying desperately and sleeping fitfully.

* * *

><p>I'm staring at the wall.<p>

Exhausted.

I don't desire death, but I have no will to live.

There is nothing 'wrong'. I have everything I ever thought I'd need or want. What does it say about me that it all seems so meaningless? Am I just that selfish, that greedy, that I want more? I can't think of anything I really want. I just don't care.

The only thing I desire these days is sleep. Sweet oblivion. When I sleep, I no longer feel the desperate sadness clawing at my chest. When I sleep, no longer do these strange tears fall. And the pounding in my head finally fades.

* * *

><p>It's around Thanksgiving, and Jacob is on a job in Olympia when I finally give in and pour out my desperation to Edward.<p>

He's in South Carolina, and when he calls, he catches me at a bad time. I've been slumped on the kitchen floor, crying for hours, and when I answer the phone, Edward immediately hears in my voice that there is something wrong. He begs me to let him in, and I eventually crack, the words flowing out of me in a torrent.

I tell him that I'm so sad all the fucking time, when I have no real reason to be. I tell him that I can't find any joy in music, that I've lost my love of lyricism and melodies. I tell him I've lost my joy in poetry, that words and cadence and imagery mean nothing anymore. I tell him that I've lost my passion for artistry; that colour and design no longer hold my attention. I sob as I tell him that I've lost the ability to see beauty, feel beauty, and create beauty. Inspiration and whimsy are gone. I tell him that colours seem like shades of gray, vibrancy has become garishness, and melodies seem discordant.

Edward listens, and soothes, but he never once tells me that I shouldn't feel the way I do. He offers to fly back to Seattle immediately, but I refuse, insisting he finish his tour commitments.

He is the first to vocalize the horrible word that I've been trying to ignore.

"Bella, dearest. It sounds an awful lot like you might be depressed."

* * *

><p>Two days later, Edward emails me a link to a YouTube clip that he says is from his gig that evening in Pittsburgh. I follow it and am greeted with a surprisingly high quality clip of Edward on stage, a beanie pulled down over his head, his beard longer than I've ever seen it.<p>

"Uh, thanks. Um, this next one is a song I wrote for my friend, Bella. Um, I've never performed it for anyone but her, and I hope she doesn't mind me sharing it. Sometimes the people we care about are in a really dark place where they can't see hope, when all they feel is despair. If you have a someone in your life like that, it's so important that you keep telling them that there is hope, that you'll believe for them, until they can believe it themselves. Uh, okay, this song is called _When You Can't Believe_."

Edward starts to play the song he wrote for me after his first show in Portland. Tears roll down my face as I watch him sing, his voice raw with emotion.

_You can't see it  
><em>_But in time you will  
><em>_And until you can  
><em>_I'll point your way home_

_When you can't believe there is light and hope  
><em>_I'll hold a lantern and guide your path home_

My hands are trembling as I reach for my cell phone. I pull up Edward's number and dial before I can lose my nerve. His very public declaration of support makes me brave. I hold my breath as it rings once, twice, three times.

"Bella? Is everything okay?" Edward's voice is thick with sleep but in my desperation to speak to him, I can't even find the words to apologise for waking him.

"Edward." I sob.

"Bella, love, what's going on? Are you okay, dearest?"

"Edward. There's something else I haven't told you. It's … It's about Jacob."

* * *

><p><strong>I know, I'm sorry, terrible place to stop! I think I'll probably switch to EPOV for the next chapter, so we can see what he's been up to, and we'll hear Bella's confession from his perspective.<strong>

**As you can see, Bella's got two issues working against her. She's suffering from depression, and she's in an emotionally abusive marriage. There's no denying these things are related, but they are not the same thing. **

*** The "Chanel No. 5" reference is something I borrowed from Skins Season 2. It's a freaking brilliant show. Well, the first four seasons are.**


	12. SeptDec 2010: Another Unexpected EPOV

**September – November 2010: Another Unexpected EPOV**

**A/N: Edward wouldn't get out of my head, so he's getting another chapter. Please be advised, this chapter deals with depression and emotional abuse.**

**Chapter songs: **_**From Above**_** by Ben Folds, and **_**O' Sister,**_** City and Colour.**

**And, obviously, I'm not Stephanie Meyer, so I don't own Twilight.**

* * *

><p>"Oi, Edward lad, where's your head at, 'ey? Fuckin' wake up. Let's get out o' here."<p>

Marcus' voice drags me out of my stupor, and I nod curtly at him, before I grab my guitar cases and backpack, and follow him out to the van. Leah squeezes my shoulder sympathetically, but most of her attention is trained on the phone in her other hand. She and Alec have been non-stop talking and texting since we left Vancouver. I'm happy for her; they suit each other perfectly, and I've never seen her so disgustingly cheerful.

I clamber into the backseat of the van, snapping on the seatbelt and pulling my beanie down over my eyes. The drive from Dallas to New Orleans will take us about nine hours, and I intend to grab a few hours sleep whilst Marcus drives the first leg. I hear him heave himself into the driver's seat, and he turns the radio on softly.

An unfamiliar tune starts up, and I grumble for him to turn it up. I immediately recognize the voice of Ben Folds, and it occurs to me that this must be a song from the album he and Nick Hornby have just put out. The lyrics grab me by the throat, making it hard to breathe.

_It's so easy from above  
><em>_You can really see it all  
><em>_People who belong together  
><em>_Lost and sad and small  
><em>_But there's nothing to be done for them  
><em>_It doesn't work that way  
><em>_Sure we all have soulmates but we walk past them every day, oh no_

My mind immediately goes to Bella. Although; my mind is always with Bella these days. That sweet, beautiful girl; she captured my heart with one tear, one look across a darkened room.

What was the first line? "They even looked at each other once across a crowded bar." It resonates deeply with me.

The connection I have with Bella is something I feel deep within me; she is a kindred spirit, someone my soul recognizes. But she's married. Unlike the people _From Above_ speaks about, I've actually met my soul-mate; I'm even friends with her. I haven't walked past her, but still, I can't be with her. We belong together, I truly believe that, but we can't be together. She's already with someone else. So I must be spend this life "lost and sad and small"; "there's nothing to be done" for me.

The thought tears at me. My soul-mate is married to another man. I wonder pensively if it'd be better if I'd walked past her and never known her. My heart rejects the idea immediately. I'd always choose to have Bella in my life; I'd rather love her from a distance, than not have met her.

Love her? The thought startles me, but only momentarily. I succumb to the inevitable: I love Bella. I fell in love with her the night she introduced herself to me in Seattle.

But she's not free to love me in return.

* * *

><p>I drive for four hours after Marcus does his three, but he makes me stop once we get close to the city itself so Leah can take the wheel. Neither of them will let me drive in cities, because it's taken me much longer to get used to driving on the wrong side of the road. I don't mind: I'd rather drive on the open road than try to navigate through an unfamiliar city. This way I get to take in the sights and sounds of the city without needing to concentrate on traffic.<p>

I had been excited to get to New Orleans, with its rich cultural history, but I can barely take it in as we make our way toward the motel. My mind is more than 2500 miles away, wondering if Bella is doing okay. She's seemed so flat and down the last few times I've spoken to her. One of the things that drew me to her so completely was her vibrancy, but lately something seems to have dimmed her spark.

As soon as we are unloaded in the stuffy motel, I grab my phone and dial Bella's number.

"Hello?"

"Hey Bella, how are you, dearest?"

"Edward! I'm okay. Where are you today?"

"We just arrived in New Orleans."

"Oh wow. I've always wanted to see New Orleans. You're so lucky Edward, you've seen more of my country than I have."

"You should travel more, sweetheart. You get a long break over the summer, don't you?"

"I suppose. I've suggested it a few times, but even though Jacob enjoys being in a car for long periods of time, he has no desire to see anything outside of Washington, really. He's been to Portland, and Vancouver obviously, but he wouldn't come to Australia with me when I went to see Mom a few years ago."

I'm trying desperately to reserve judgment on Jacob until I actually meet him, but it's becoming harder. If I had the opportunity to show this beautiful woman the world, I'd grab it in a heartbeat. He may have no desire to travel himself, but he bloody well ought to have the desire to see his wife smile as much as humanly possible. I can just imagine the way Bella's eyes would light up as she took in different places for the first time. I catch myself wondering how she'd like London, and focus myself back on the conversation.

"Oh really? I bloody loved Australia. I can't wait to go back and see more." I sigh, "I love being on the road, I never want to take for granted all the places I get to see when I'm touring."

I'm aware I'm being a complete hypocrite as I say that; I just drove through New Orleans with my mind in Washington. I resolve to go out and enjoy some of the sights once I finish talking with Bella.

"Oh! Speaking of which, Bella, I heard Ben Folds new song on the drive from Dallas. Have you heard it, dearest? It's from the album he wrote with Nick Hornby."

"Uh, no I haven't," Bella mumbles.

I'm playing with fire encouraging her to listen to it, I know. Some part of me wants to find an excuse to make her understand how I feel about her. As quickly as I have that thought, I begin to chastise myself. I will never put Bella in a position to make her feel uncomfortable, or make her feel as though I'm asking her to choose between Jacob and myself. I resolve firmly to be the best friend she ever could ask for, but to never, ever cross that line that would make her feel uneasy.

"Actually," she confesses softly, "I haven't listened to any music for weeks. New or old."

Her admission startles and concerns me. Music is an enormous part of Bella's life, every bit as much as it is of mine. Bella may not be a musician; she doesn't create music, but she lives and breathes it. When she talks about music and lyrics and melody and song, she positively lights up. It's almost as though she glows from within as she expounds enthusiastically about her favourite bands and musicians and composers.

"Have you been too busy, Bella?" I ask carefully.

"No." She sighs, "I just don't have any desire to listen to anything at the moment. Everything just seems like white noise. I don't understand it."

"Sweetheart, don't be upset with me, but that worries me. I've been worried about you for a little while, Bella."

Bella laughs mirthlessly.

"I'm worried too, Edward. My life has always been filled with music, but I don't know, something's off. I can't lose myself in it the way I used to."

"Bella, you know I'm always ready to listen if you need a friend?"

"Yeah, I know, Edward. I appreciate that."

"And if you don't want to confide in me, that's okay. I'll understand, but it would be good if you could open up to someone, yeah? Maybe your friend, Alice?"

"I'd happily talk to you Edward, I just don't know if I have the words to explain."

"I'll be listening when you find them."

"Thank you, Edward. I, uh, I guess –" Bella cuts off abruptly and I can hear an abrasive male voice calling her name in the background.

"Listen, Edward, I've got to go, I'm sorry."

"No problems, dearest. I'll talk to you soon."

"Okay. Bye."

And then she is gone, and I am alone in New Orleans.

* * *

><p>Later that night, I'm sitting in a crowded bar with Leah and Marcus. The evening is mild, and it's stuffy in here, with people packed in, drinking and dancing to a loud, throbbing beat. A few young women approach me, and I briefly contemplate allowing one of them to take me home with them. With Leah seeing Alec, our friendship is now without the 'benefits', and it's been a very long time since I had a good shag.<p>

But the first girl is a blonde, and she's too tall. The second is a brunette, but she's too skinny, and she has blue eyes. The third is a red head. She seems friendly, and eager, but as soon as she shrieks "Oh my God, I like, totally love the music here!" I lose interest. I groan inwardly as I excuse myself, and begin to make my way back to my lonely motel room. None of the girls could measure up, because none of them are Bella.

"She's married. She's married." I tell myself, repeating it over and over in my mind.

I don't know what I'm going to do. The only girl I want to be with is on the other side of the country, married to another man. What will that mean for me, I wonder? Will I settle for someone else, be reasonably happy, but always know the connection will never run soul deep? Will I remain alone, longing for what I can't have, making do with being her friend? I tell myself to shelve this line of thought, to give it time. I don't need to make those kinds of decisions tonight.

"Edward! EDWARD!" Leah's voice pulls me up short, and I spin around. She's chasing me up the street, so I stop and wait for her.

"Bloody hell." She pants, "You took off in a hurry."

I shrug.

"That redhead was cute." She observes. I shrug again, noncommittally.

"But you prefer brunettes."

I ignore her and continue walking, not wanting to have this conversation here and now.

"Hey!" Leah yanks on my arm, forcing me around to face her.

"I'm sorry, Edward. Christ, lad, I'm just worried about you."

"I'm fine, Lee." I say shortly. "I'm just tired. I want to go to bed."

Leah looks me in the eye, studying me carefully. Her expression softens, and she pats my shoulder gently.

"Look, I think I know what's going on, and if you don't want to talk about it, it's okay. I'm just worried, yeah? You haven't really been yourself for a few weeks. Are you still taking – "

"Yes. Every day." I cut off her question, knowing where she's heading with it.

Leah nods.

"Okay then. I'm sorry, lad."

"It's okay, Lee." I sigh, tugging at my filthy hair. "I understand your concern, but as far as that goes, I'm fine."

Leah hooks her arm through mine, and we make our way back to the hotel in silence.

* * *

><p>New Orleans.<p>

Chicago.

Cincinnati.

Knoxville.

Atlanta.

Charleston.

I channel the emotions that overwhelm me into each performance. I've never played better. I play every song for Bella. It's cathartic, being able to express my love, my despair, my joy, and my sadness in song.

* * *

><p>I'm ninety-nine percent certain that I'm dreaming.<p>

I'm lying in a verdant, flower-filled meadow. Bella is here. We're laughing and smiling. Her brown eyes are luminous in her happiness. Dream Bella props herself up on one elbow as she lies next to me. Her slender finger traces along my cheek, gently, tenderly. She looks down at me, a smile curving her full lips. Dream Me reaches up and cups her cheek, marveling at the silky feel of her porcelain skin under my calloused fingertips.

"Edward," she calls, her voice shocking contrast to the serenity of her expression. "I need you. Help me, Edward. Please, I need you. You have to call me."

The desperation in her voice is startling, and the next thing I'm aware of is leaping out of bed in my motel room in Charleston, South Carolina. I quickly dig through my backpack for my phone. Upon finding it, I immediately dial Bella's number, the urgency and sorrow in her dream voice causing me to panic.

The phone rings longer than usual, and my breath catches. I hear the call connect, and a soft sob comes through the earpiece. The sound, so laden as it is with desperate sadness, cuts through me like a knife.

"Edward?" Bella sniffles, her voice soft and scratchy.

"Bella, dearest, are you okay? Why are you crying?"

Bella doesn't answer, she sniffles again, and I hear her draw in a shaky breath; she's trying to compose herself.

"Bella, love. Let me in, please."

"I- … I, um." As she struggles for words, I feel my heart fracture just a little more.

"Sweetheart, I can't promise I can fix anything, but please let me in. Talk to me, dearest. Tell me what's got you so upset."

"That's the thing Edward, I don't know!" she wails.

"I'm so sad. So sad all the fucking time, and I don't understand why. And everything that used to make me happy, just … doesn't anymore."

Her words are so familiar, and alarm bells are going off in my mind. Knowing I need to tread carefully, though, I ask her a few cautious questions.

"Can you explain that to me, dearest? What doesn't make you happy?"

"Anything. Nothing. Nothing makes me happy." She sniffles a bit more, but begins to elaborate in a soft, shaky voice.

"Since I was a little girl, music has always been my escape. I love it. I loved it. I love old, familiar tunes that feel like home, and I love the excitement of discovering new music. But I can't remember the last time I turned my iPod on. I've lost any interest in; I can't see the beauty in it anymore. I used to be so passionate and enthusiastic about beautifully poetic lyrics, and intricately crafted melodies, but now everything just sounds like an irritating drone to me. Poetry doesn't hold my attention anymore. Imagery, cadence, clever use of words: they don't excite me anymore."

She begins to sob again, and I make gentle shushing noises, wishing I could reach out to her. I hate the immense distance that separates me from this beautiful, distraught woman. I murmur words of comfort as she continues to speak.

"It's like beauty has been sapped from my life, Edward. I can't see it. I can't feel it. And I definitely can't create it. There's no passion, no inspiration, no whimsical delight for me in anything. Colours are muted, like drab shades of grey, and vibrancy seems garish to me. Melodies seem discordant, poetry seems hollow and empty." The words continue to tumble out of Bella, and I sense she's been keeping her emotions tightly bottled.

"Oh sweetheart, I'm so sorry to hear that."

"But the thing is Edward, nothing is wrong. I don't lack anything. But I'm just so desperately sad all the time. I cry all the time. I hate it, but I can't seem to control it."

"Oh Bella. What can I do to help, my dearest girl? Say the word and I'll fly to Seattle tomorrow."

"I can't let you do that, Edward. You need to finish your tour commitments." Her voice is quiet, but she seems to have stopped crying for the moment.

"I'd do it in a heartbeat for you, my friend."

"Thank you Edward. But you've done everything I needed. You listened. And you didn't try to tell me I shouldn't feel the way I do."

"How you feel is how you feel Bella. It's never wrong. You're allowed to be sad. I wish you weren't. But you are, and that's okay, sweetheart."

"Thank you."

"Bella," I hesitate, unsure as to how she will respond to what I have to say.

"Yes?"

"Bella, dearest. It sounds an awful lot like you may be depressed."

Bella is silent for so long that I begin to panic, thinking I've offended her.

"Bella? Are you there?"

"I'm here Edward. I, just, I …" she pauses, and then the words tumble out, as though she's forcing herself to say them before she changes her mind.

"I think your right. I think I'm depressed. But I have no right to be. I haven't had a traumatic upbringing, I feel like I have no right to be so miserable. Jake thinks I'm just being self-indulgent."

"Bella, love, he's wrong, and unfortunately people's misconceptions of depression are one of the biggest obstacles. And as for not having a 'reason' to be depressed, I'm sorry love, but depression doesn't work like that. It doesn't need to justify itself. Yes, sometimes it's triggered by particular events in a person's life, but sometimes it just is, for no rhyme nor reason. Sometimes, it's just a brain that doesn't make the chemicals it needs to."

"I know that, I do." Bella sniffles again.

"It's scary, yeah? The word holds a lot of power and comes with a lot of baggage, and a lot of judgment."

"Yeah. It's, just, it's utterly terrifying Edward. I'm not really processing it very well at the moment."

"That's understandable, love. It will take time. But, Bella, I really think you need to talk with some one more professional than me. I will always be here for you, and you can call me any time, day or night, if you need to. It's really important though, that you talk with someone who can help you work through things properly."

"I'm scared to, Edward."

"I know, love."

"You're right though. I should talk to someone."

"Take some time to think about it, sweetheart. Make the call when you're ready. It can only help."

"I will Edward. I, uh, I think I need to go to bed now. My mind is shutting down."

"Yeah, that's perfectly understandable. Get some rest, lovely girl. I'm only a phone call away, yeah?"

"Thank you, Edward. I love you." She yawns.

Does she realize what she's said? My heart thumps wildly in my chest.

"I love you too, sweet girl." I whisper.

I collapse back down on to the bed, my heart pounding. Bella's three words play over and over in my head, "I love you." She gave them to me so easily, but then, that's Bella. She loves easily, freely, and completely. I have no doubt about the sincerity of her words; I just know she doesn't mean them the same way I do.

I'm convinced from what Bella has said that she's probably dealing with clinical depression. Just thinking the ugly word is the reminder I need to grab up my bag and swallow a tiny white pill from the bottle tucked in the front pouch.

I need to Bella the truth about myself; I need to show her I understand what she's going through. But I can't do it over the phone. It will have to wait until I can sit and talk with her face to face.

* * *

><p>I'm supposed to have a few days off between the shows in Charleston and Philadelphia, but Leah decides I need to keep busy and is able to book me a last minute spot at a bar in Pittsburgh. I'm grateful to her, the money will be useful, certainly, but mostly, it gives me something to focus on. I'm desperate to return to the West Coast, but I need to get through the next set of shows first. After the gig in Pittsburgh, I play in Philly, and then I have three gigs to play in New York City.<p>

The drive from South Carolina to Pittsburgh is long, but uneventful. Fragments of a new song are beginning to take shape in my mind as the van rumbles along. When Leah and Marcus take their turns driving, I sit in the back, with my guitar, fiddling with chords and melodies.

"Whatever you're writing is going to be bloody brilliant." Leah observes, catching my eye in the rearview mirror. I nod, but my focus is on a fragment of a lyric I'm trying to pin down.

"Hey, Eddie, you never played me whatever you wrote in Portland. You know, the night I met Isabella."

"Bella." I correct, automatically. "And no, I didn't."

"Have you played it for her?"

"Yeah, in Seattle. After the second gig there." Leah's eyes widen, but I'm not really paying her any attention. I'm suddenly remembering Bella's response to the song I wrote for her.

What was it she'd said?

"… _a few nights before your Portland show I had the most humiliating, degrading experiences of my entire life, and it was at the hands of the one person I ought to be able trust above all others."_

My fists clench as I start to piece a bit more together about Bella. The one person she ought to be able to trust above all others has to be her husband, Jacob. What the fuck could that bastard possibly have done to her that humiliated and degraded her? The fact that he caused her to feel that makes me see red, and my jaw flexes in response. If I manage to meet the bloody git without punching him in the face, it will be a miracle.

"Oi, Edward? Hey!" Leah's raised voice drags me away from my violent thoughts and I look up, meeting her eyes in the review mirror once again.

"I'm sorry, Lee. What were you saying, dearest?"

"When are you going to perform it? Bella's song?"

"Uh, I'm not sure." I hesitate, scrubbing at my beard. I really need to shave. It's longer than it's ever been, but I just couldn't be fucked doing anything about it.

"You know, we could film you playing it, and you could send the video to her." Leah suggests, clearly understanding that the song is not one I'll just add into the mix with most of the others. There are a few songs I almost never play at gigs, because they're too personal to share.

"That's not a bad idea Lee. Actually, we can put it on YouTube, because I think I need to say something important before I play it."

"What, like a PSA?" Marcus laughs.

I don't respond. I'm not in the mood to joke about an issue that has affected me so much, and is now impacting Bella.

* * *

><p>We arrive in Pittsburgh in the late afternoon, so I have 24 hours before I'm required to be anywhere. Rather than head out to watch some local musicians like I usually would, I hole myself up in my room after dinner.<p>

I'm contemplating going to bed when my phone chimes.

**From Emmett McCarty:  
><strong>**Skype. Five minutes. Do it.**

I briefly think about telling him to fuck off, but I miss the bastard, so I drag out my laptop and log on.

It's only a few minutes before his giant, dimpled face fills the screen of my MacBook.

"Mate, you look like shite!"

"Fuck you, Em."

"I'm sorry lad, but you do look terrible. Is everything a'right?"

"I don't know Em." My hands tug at my hair as I stare at the screen.

"Does this have anything to do with the American bird you brought around in Vancouver?"

"What? How did you-"

"Edward, I know you. And I saw enough of her to know she's a perfect fit for you."

"She's married, Em."

"To an arsehole." Rosalie chimes in unexpectedly, and her head appears sideways on the screen as she bends down next to Em to get a look at me.

"Hi Edward," she adds.

"Hey Rose. Why do you say Bella's husband is an arse?"

"How much of my conversation with her did you hear?"

"Not a lot, I heard her mention orgasms and decided to get her home before she said something she'd regret once she was sober. She couldn't possibly keep up with you in the drinking stakes Rosie." In fact, Rose could probably drink more than Emmett and myself combined, and still leap out of bed the next morning without a hangover.

"She was actually talking about a lack of orgasms, lad. Her fuckwit of a husband has her convinced she's anorgasmic."

"What?" Bella and orgasms are not something I want in my head at the same time, it will lead me places I can't return from, and I'll only end up with my heart torn in two. As beautiful as Bella is, I refuse to allow my thoughts to travel down that path. I told Leah the first night I met Bella that it wasn't about wanting to shag her, but it's getting hard to keep denying that my attraction to her extends to that dimension as well.

"Edward. Concentrate. The stupid git has never made her climax. And rather than put any effort into her pleasure, he's made her feel that she's somehow defective; that there's something wrong with her. I suppose there's a chance she is actually anorgasmic, but it's a pretty rare condition. It's far more likely he's just a selfish fucker in bed."

As much as it pains me to think about Bella in bed with anyone, I feel the fury begin to build in me again. That beautiful, passionate woman ought never be left wanting. What the hell is wrong with the bastard that she isn't his entire universe; that his life doesn't revolve around treasuring her and making her happy?

"As much as it pisses me off to hear that, it's not so much her relationship with her husband that I'm worried about. She's seriously depressed." I sigh, resting my face in my hands.

"Oh shit, the poor lass," sighs Emmett.

"Edward, I'm sure she genuinely may be depressed, but I wouldn't be surprised if that's not actually a separate issue to her relationship with Jack."

"Jake." I correct.

"Don't care," huffs Rosalie. "From the short conversation I had with her, I gathered that she's not only, er, unsatisfied, but that she's basically completely neglected by him. That's me reading between the lines, of course, but I think I'm a pretty good judge of character."

Rose is right, she is an excellent judge of character, because she's incredibly observant. She doesn't say a lot, but she takes a lot in. Actually, it occurs to me that that's probably why Leah wanted Bella to meet Rose and Em in the first place. She probably wanted Rose's opinion on whether Bella was a crazy fan, or whether she was completely genuine.

"Um, he has to travel a fair bit to find work, I gather. So he's absent a lot."

"That's not what I mean, Edward. I mean he pays no attention to her emotional needs. He makes no effort to make her feel cared for or loved. And if that's the case, I would imagine it's a pretty big factor contributing to her depression."

I nod my understanding as Rose continues to speak.

"When you're back over here, lad, I think we should create an opportunity to meet Jacob. I'd like to see Bella again anyway."

"What's going on in your head, Rosie lass?" Emmett speaks unexpectedly, and I see that he's watching his wife carefully. She shakes her head, and sighs.

"No, nothing. I'm just worried for her."

"As am I," I admit. "I'm fairly sure tomorrow will be a bad day because I'm so emotionally overloaded at the moment."

Emmett and Rose murmur their sympathy and comfort. They've both known me for long enough to understand what my bad days look like.

"You should sleep, dearest." Rosalie says gently, and I nod in agreement. We say our goodbyes, and I promise to keep them updated on Bella. I'm utterly drained, and I slam the laptop closed and collapse into bed far earlier than I have in months.

* * *

><p>When I wake up in the morning, I can't make myself get out of bed. Leah stops by to see if I've taken ill. She takes one look at me and understands.<p>

"Bad day?"

I nod, unable to form an articulate answer.

"Can I do anything?"

I shake my head.

"Okay, lovey. You know where I am if you need me."

I close the door and shuffle back across the room to the bed. I curl up in a ball and stare at the cracks in the wall. I feel completely and utterly numb. The last few days have taken their toll, and consequently, I'm not coping emotionally.

It's only for Bella that I drag myself out of bed in time for sound-check. I force down some toast and a beer, before taking the stage. I put everything I have left into my performance. I save Bella's song for last, knowing I'm going to crash badly when I come off the stage.

"Uh, thanks. It's been lovely Pittsburgh. You've been great tonight, so thank you. I'm sure I'll be back soon." I tug at my beanie as I speak.

"Um, this next one is a song I wrote for my friend, Bella. Um, I've never performed it for anyone but her, and I hope she doesn't mind me sharing it. Sometimes the people we care about are in a really dark place where they can't see hope, when all they feel is despair. If you have a someone in your life like that, it's so important that you keep telling them that there is hope, that you'll believe for them, until they can believe it themselves. Uh, okay, this song is called _When You Can't Believe_."

Tears slide unchecked down my face as I play her song; somehow it means even more than it did when I first played it for her. Knowing her struggles, it's become both prophetic, and a promise to her that I'm determined to keep.

After the gig, I'm desperate to beg off early, I am in no state to meet and greet right now. Leah pokes her head into the green room when I come off stage and shoots me a sympathetic smile before disappearing. When she comes back, she flops down next to me on the couch and squeezes my hand.

"I've made your excuses, lad. You're not up to socializing tonight."

I nod my agreement, thanking her for looking out for me. She shrugs it off complacently.

"It's nothing mate. You haven't had a bad day like this in a while, yeah? Anyway, we don't need to be in Philly 'til the day after tomorrow, so you can sleep late again tomorrow morning. Come along then."

Leah stands, and I follow her gratefully, shouldering my bag and grabbing my guitars. Marcus meets us as we exit the green room.

"I've already uploaded the video, Edward."

I nod my thanks to him. As soon as we're back in the hotel, I grab my laptop and shoot Bella a quick email with the link. Shutting it off, I bury myself under the bedclothes and desperately seek out the sweet oblivion of sleep.

* * *

><p>It seems like it's only minutes later that Van Morrison startles me out of the fitful sleep I've finally crawled into. It's the only tune that could rouse me after a day like this. I reach across the bed, scrambling to find my phone.<p>

"Bella? Is everything okay?" I manage to croak out.

"Edward." She sobs. The one word is laden with such distress, it's overwhelming, and I feel tears of my own begin to gather. I fight them, unwilling to succumb to my own emotion when Bella is clearly in such desperate need.

"Bella, love, what's going on? Are you okay, dearest?" The hopelessness in her voice has me in full panic mode: I'm throwing on clothes with my free hand, preparing to bang down Leah's door to beg her to get me on the next flight to Seattle.

Bella's next words cause me to freeze, my hand on the doorknob.

"Edward. There's something else I haven't told you. It's … It's about Jacob."

"What about him, love? Did he hurt you?" My heart rate accelerates as I contemplate the possibility that she's about to confirm all of my worst fears.

"No. NO! Well, no, not physically, Edward. He'd never raise a hand against me. It's just …" she trails off, and I gently prompt her to continue.

"Bella, love, you can tell me anything. You can always be honest with me."

Bella takes a deep breath, like she's preparing herself, and then the words begin to tumble forth, gathering speed as she struggles to explain.

"Edward, it's just, I'm so miserable. He's just- he's just awful to me. I know it sounds stupid and childish, but he's so mean to me all the time. I'm never, ever good enough. And I'm so, so tired of being called lazy and useless and psychotic. And I keep telling myself that maybe I _am_ all those things, because that's easier to accept than the fact that he's just being deliberately nasty. But then I have these moments of clarity and I remember how fucking hard I work to keep him happy and I just can't take it anymore!" Her sobs overtake her, and she breaks off, crying piteously.

My already battered heart aches for her, as she continues to sob and tell me in a shaky voice about the cruel things Jacob says to her, about the expectations he places on her, the demands he makes of her. From what I gather through her halting explanations, he treats her as a cook, a cleaner, a body to fuck - his personal slave. She tells me how differently he behaves in public, and she weeps as she tells me how her friends all believe him to be an amazing husband.

I murmur words that I mean to be soothing, but I have no idea what to tell her. Do I tell her to leave the bastard? Do I tell her to fight back? Will his emotional abuse, and I realize that this is indeed what it is, of my beautiful, sweet Bella turn physical? I'm absolutely terrified for her, and for the first time in my life, I feel truly murderous. I could kill the bastard for the cruelty and misery he's inflicted on this precious woman.

She confesses he's working in Olympia for the next two weeks, and that he'll probably only come home for the weekend. This gives me some peace of mind, but I don't know what else to do, so I do the only thing I can at this point in time.

I tell her how precious she is, I tell her how beautiful and special and wonderful and amazing she is. She laughs at me, and though it frustrates me to know that she doesn't see herself clearly at all, it warms my broken heart to hear the smile in her voice. I tell her that I'm always here for her, that I'll always listen, that I'll always care. I tell her that she is loved.

When she starts to yawn, I encourage her to go to get some rest. I can see dawn is beginning to break here, and she is three hours behind. She needs to sleep. We murmur our goodbyes, after I secure her promise to check in with me every day.

After the call disconnects, I sit on my tiny motel room bed, my head in my hands. The tears I've been fighting since I first heard the distress in Bella's voice overpower me; hot salty water streams down my face and into my scruffy beard. I let them flow, my heart aching for the sweet, sad girl on the other side of the continent. The sweet girl I love more than anything in the world. The broken woman I so desperately want to hold. My soul-mate: who is bound to another man. A man who doesn't care for her, treasure her, cherish her, or honour her the way I so desperately want to. Anger and frustration and despair threaten to overwhelm me, and my tears give way to desperate, gasping sobs as I sink to my knees on the hard floor.

* * *

><p><strong>I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. It was very emotionally draining to write. I had no idea Edward was having such a hard time as well.<strong>

**I have a question for you, lovely readers. If you were Edward, or Alice, what would course of action would you encourage Bella to pursue? What things would you say to her?**


	13. December 2010

**Chapter 10: December 2010**

**A/N: Back over to our lovely Bella. I think it's time the gang met Jake, yes?**

**If you're struggling with depression, there is hope, always, even when you can't see it. Please, please talk to someone. I should also say, the way I write about depression is based on experience and anecdotes, not on any medical qualifications or training. **

**And thank you for all your lovely reviews, and your suggestions as to how you'd help Bella out. They warmed my heart. **

**I own nothing but the story line.**

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><p>When my alarm goes off the next morning, my limbs are heavy as they search out the snooze button. My mind feels as though it is enshrouded in a thick fog; I can't think clearly. Memories of Edward's soothing voice begin to surface and I feel the stinging in the corners of my eyes heralding fresh tears.<p>

Fragments of conversation drift through the fog, like the flashes from a lighthouse through a stormy night.

_"Sweet girl, please don't cry."_

_ "You're not selfish or lazy or useless, Bella. I don't know why he says those things but he's wrong."_

_ "Of course you're worthy of love, sweetheart." _

_ "Depression isn't self-indulgent, dearest. It's not something you choose to bear. Nor something you can talk yourself out of."_

_ "I'm here for you, Bella. Always."_

My alarm begins to shrill again, I realize there's no way I can face work today. I call the school office, telling Shelley Cope I'm unwell. She tells me it's not a problem; she'll organize a temp to take my lessons, and tells me she hopes I feel better soon. When I end the call, I throw my phone back on to the nightstand and promptly hide myself beneath the covers, eventually falling back to sleep.

* * *

><p>After allowing myself to take just the one day off, I drag myself back to school. I move like a zombie through the days; fortunately the months of practice mean I'm able to maintain some semblance of normalcy. Edward and I speak daily, and he continues to urge me to seek out an appointment with a psychologist. I know I'm stalling, but I need more time to get my head around the idea. I resolve to make a few calls in the New Year.<p>

When Jacob returns from Olympia, nothing is different. The routine that has served us for so many months now continues. I work, I cry, I cook, I cry, I clean, I cry, I lie underneath him whilst he fucks me, I cry. A few times I refuse to sleep with him, and he huffs and carries on like a three year old, making a huge show of getting himself off to some pretty extreme pornography. I don't know if that's supposed to make me jealous, or turn me on, but all it does is make me relieved it's not my body he's using. The relief is only temporary though, as it always causes an escalation in his spiteful comments. Subsequently, I don't refuse him often, and I endure his pawing and grunting and thrusting purely for the temporary peace of mind it assures me. I discover it's easier to sacrifice my body than it is to endure the taunts and criticisms.

* * *

><p>Edward arrives back in Seattle just as school breaks up for Christmas. He is staying with Emmett and Rosalie, where all their respective families will be joining them a few days before Christmas. Edward tells me Emmett is footing the bill, and he tells me his mate's generosity overwhelms him at times.<p>

We agree to meet for coffee in Port Angeles midweek. I tell Jacob of my plans, and he just shrugs.

"I've told you before Iz, I'm really not worried guys are going to try and hit on you. I'm just not the jealous type, babe."

So it's a chilly Thursday morning when I stumble into the café I suggested we meet in. There's only just over a week until Christmas, and I have to duck under the tinsel and mistletoe to get in the door. I look around for Edward, but I can't see him, so I begin to make my way toward a booth in the back. A gentle hand on my shoulder causes me to spin around, and I look up into a familiar pair of smiling jade green eyes. Edward's regard is so warm, caring and honest, that I want to smile and cry simultaneously.

"Oh my gosh!" I gasp as I look up into his face, realizing why I didn't spot him immediately.

"You shaved! And you had a haircut."

Edward grins down at me, his hand automatically finding it's way into his bronze locks. Without all the scruff covering the lower half of his face, I'm suddenly aware of the sharp angles of his jaw, and the fact that his smile is kinda crooked. It's … well, it's kinda sexy.

"Uh, yeah. It was getting a bit disgusting," he admits sheepishly.

We stare at each other for a beat longer, before Edward wraps me into his warm embrace. He holds me tight, and for those few moments, all the pain and sadness of the past few months fades away. In his arms I find safety and peace.

"I made an executive decision, dearest," he whispers. "I think we've moved beyond the cheek kiss and can, from here on out, greet each other with hugs."

I laugh as he rests his chin on the top of my head.

"Yeah, I think we've definitely reached that level of friendship. Good decision. I'm not sure we've actually exchanged greetings yet though," I giggle.

"Good point." Edward pulls back from me, his eyes twinkling.

"Hi Bella, love."

"Hey Edward, it's so good to see you." Edward pulls me into another hug as I continue to chuckle.

"I missed you, sweetheart," he whispers, so softly I'm not sure he means for me to hear.

"I missed you, too." I whisper back, and I feel him squeeze me tighter in response.

When he releases me, I realize we're in the middle of a busy café, and so, blushing, I grab his arm and lead him to a table by the window. We shrug out of our heavy coats, folding them over an empty chair. A waitress pounces on us almost immediately, and once our orders are placed, I finally take in our surrounds. I look out the window, and realize I'm in the same seat I was in when I decided to get my tattoo done. When I tell Edward this he smiles, gently tracing the lettering on my wrist.

"Bella, dearest, I didn't want to have this conversation over the phone, but there's something I need to tell you." Edward breaks off, running a hand through his air anxiously. He looks nervous.

I grab the hand that's not tugging at his head, squeezing it gently.

"Edward, I think we're at a point in our friendship where you can tell me anything, and know I'll still be here for you. Okay?"

He still looks apprehensive as he nods his head, before he blows out a deep breath and begins to speak.

"Uh, so, I mean, I guess … shit. Bella, there's a reason I feel pretty confident in thinking you're probably depressed, sweetheart. Uh, I guess I can see it because so may of the feelings you described are so familiar. And I guess, I wanted you to know, you're not alone. I don't talk about it much, but, uh, I was diagnosed with depression five years ago." His voice trails off, and my thumb begins to trace soft circles on the back of his hand.

"Uh, so, yeah, when I was 20, I'd been living in London for two years, and life just kind of caught up with me. There was nothing wrong per se. I was living the dream, yeah? I taught guitar lessons to make a living and I was doing really well at that. Most evenings I was playing open mic nights, or going and watching bands play. I was writing, and I'd saved up enough that I was looking at recording an EP. And then, I just lost all interest. I couldn't write, I could barely stand the sounds my guitar produced; it was like, well, like everything was out of tune. I could barely drag myself out of bed each day. There were days I didn't. I lost a heap of weight because I just couldn't be bothered feeding myself. I was an absolute mess."

I can feel the lump start to develop in my throat; it breaks my heart to imagine Edward in such a state. So much of what he's described matches exactly with how I feel so frequently at present, and I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

"I, uh, I handled it badly," Edward sighs, his green eyes meeting mine. They're filled with fear and regret.

"I self-medicated. I tried everything. I drank myself stupid; I'd go on these weeklong benders. There are huge expanses of time that I have absolutely no recollection of. When that stopped working, I tried drugs. I started out smoking weed, but I also tried some other shit as well. Ecstasy, acid, cocaine. Anything to try to numb the pain. And it worked. For a while, until I sobered up, or came down, and then I felt even worse." He shakes his head in disgust.

"I, uh, I slept with a lot of women as well," Edward mumbles, and he now refuses to look me in the eye.

"And honestly, I don't remember a single one of them. I was just chasing that few seconds of ecstasy. That small moment in time when I didn't feel overwhelmed by sadness and despair. When merely existing wasn't so fucking exhausting, yeah? I probably continued on that path for close to a year. Drinking, screwing around, getting high. But, of course, nothing worked for long." His hand grips mine tighter, as though he is afraid whatever he's going to say will cause me to flee from him. I can see him struggle to force the words out.

"Emmett found me the first time I tried to use heroin. He came barging into my bedroom in the flat we shared. He still doesn't know why he came in, but he, uh, he found me before I managed to inject myself. I was so fucked up I couldn't figure out how to do it." Edward looks up, his eyes meeting mine again warily.

I feel no disgust for him, only compassion. I can understand what would motivate him to pursue such a path; knowing the crushing weight of depression, I can't fault him for his desperation to escape the pain. Whatever he sees in my regard seems to reassure him, and takes another deep breath before he continues.

"I don't remember a lot, but Emmett told me later that he punched me out cold. He was just so desperate to stop me that he didn't know what else to do. But, I s'pose, uh, I truly believe he saved my life in that moment. It took me something like twelve hours to regain consciousness and then sober up enough for him to actually get me to make any sense. Em says they were the worst twelve hours of his entire life." I can see in Edward's eyes the deep sense of shame and regret he still carries over putting his friend through that experience.

"He told me to talk and I did. I told him everything. I told him about the despair and the overwhelming exhaustion I felt at the prospect of dragging myself out of bed each morning. I told him drinking and the drugs and the girls. I expected him to walk away from me, but he didn't. He let me speak, and he cried with me when I told him I just couldn't face the prospect of living the way I was any longer."

I can't fight the tears any longer, and they begin to fall, gently making their salty paths down my cheeks, the heat of them scorching my cold cheeks. I cry because it breaks my heart to know Edward has known such despair, and I cry because I understand, all too well, the feeling that having to get myself through another day is just too much to be able to bear.

"Don't cry, love," Edward whispers, as he gently brushes his fingers along my cheekbones, wiping away the tears that have fallen.

"Em realized I wasn't in a place to help myself, so he did everything for me. He made me a doctor's appointment and an appointment with a psychologist. He took me to every appointment for months. It didn't take long for me to be diagnosed with depression. I, uh, I was put on a course of anti-depressants. I also had some cognitive behaviour therapy for a while, which was pretty helpful." Edward idly sips his coffee, before he continues.

"I tried to come off the medication after two years on it. I was okay for a while, but then I felt the sadness creeping back in again. Uh, having been there before, my doctors decided to put me back on the meds again. I'm still on them. I will be for another year or so, and then they'll try to take me off them again, though more slowly." Edward looks up at me, and he sighs. He reaches over and takes my other hand, so that he has both my hands in his own.

"Bella, you have to believe me when I tell you that there is hope. You won't always be overwhelmed by despair. But you do have to take the step to get some help; you can't do it on your own. I know it's terrifying, but would you believe me when I tell you that there is help out there. There is hope."

Edward's green eyes burn into mine with breath-taking intensity, and my breath catches in my throat.

"Bella, love. It's a hard road, and it's a long one, but I will always walk beside you on it. I promise."

I'm in danger of losing control of my emotions, and Edward sees the panic in my expression. He throws some cash down on the table and grabs our coats, helping me into mine as we exit the cozy café. By the time we've reached the street, desperate and pitiful sobs are wracking my body. Edward guides me along the footpath until we're out of sight in a little alleyway, before he gently folds me into his embrace. He holds me as I cry for him, for the difficult road he's walked, and I cry for myself, terrified I won't have the strength to walk the same path.

Eventually, my tears exhaust themselves, and I look up into Edward's concerned gaze.

"I'm –"

"Don't apologize," he whispers hoarsely, and I now see that he too has been crying.

"Thank you." I whisper. It's all I can manage right now, but I can see from Edward's expression that he understands the magnitude of the emotion I'm trying to convey. He helps me wind my scarf around my neck, before placing his own beanie on my head.

"Now, I have an idea, love. Do you trust me?"

I nod my head, and as Edward leads me back out on to the street, I let out a weak laugh as I realize where he is heading.

"I wanted another tattoo," I smile.

An hour later, Edward and I are thanking tattoo guy as we leave his shop. The inside of my right wrist is covered in cling-wrap, protecting the delicate word now emblazoned there. In an intricate script, the word "Hope" is now etched into my skin; a permanent reminder that it is always there to be found. Edward has the same word, in the same script, now inked over his heart.

* * *

><p>I'm nervous as hell. I inspect my reflection in the oven door for the thirty-seventh time, checking that there's no lipstick on my teeth, and that my hair hasn't suddenly decided to explode into frizziness. Why did I think this was a good idea, again? I think I need a drink.<p>

I glance around the dining room, straightening wine glasses and cutlery, even though the table setting is immaculate. Jake enters the room, his shirt unbuttoned, hair still wet from his shower. He's an incredibly good-looking guy, I know, but it no longer seems attractive to me. The way he flaunts his muscled body seems crass to me now, his pants are just a little too tight across his rear, and he's wearing far too much cologne.

"They're late," he sneers. "Are they still running on English time?"

"Well, it's lucky they are," I snap back, surprising myself, "seeing as you're not dressed yet."

Jacob rolls his eyes at me as he begins to button up his shirt. I wonder idly if he intended for our guests to catch him in that state, if he hoped to impress with his sculpted abdominals and hard chest.

The doorbell sounds, and Jacob darts from the room. I follow after him, more sedately, still trying to calm my nerves. Jacob swings open the door, his bright teeth flashing as he smiles at the guests standing on the doorstep.

"Uh, hi. You must be Jacob." Edward extends his hand, his green eyes wary. As Jacob shakes his hand, I can see his forearm flex. I roll my eyes inwardly; it seems Jake's trying to exert his masculinity by crushing Edward's hand. Edward doesn't flinch though as he introduces himself.

"I'm Edward, and this is Leah." Jacob's eyes widen appreciatively as Leah offers him her hand. He ignores it and plants a kiss on her cheek. I can see Leah's eyes flash at his overly familiar gesture.

"And this is my good friend, Emmett, and his wife Rosalie." Edward continues, a wry smile turning up a corner of his mouth. Jacob's eyes nearly bug out of his head as Emmett's enormous frame appears through the doorway. Apparently Jake is more clued in to popular culture than I am; he obviously recognizes Emmett. He shakes Emmett's hand and kisses Rose's cheek. He looks at Rosalie with undisguised admiration, but I can't blame him – she's absolutely stunning. Once all four of them have stepped over the threshold, Edward begins to look around expectantly, and I decide I should make my presence known.

"Hey guys."

"Bella, lassie!" Emmett shouts as he bounds across the room and wraps me in a crushing bear hug. Rosalie smacks him across the back of the head, and pulls me from his arms into an embrace of her own.

"It's lovely to see you again, Bella." She smiles, her violet eyes genuine and warm.

Leah shoves Rose out of the way and grins.

"My turn to hug the Bella! Hey lovey, it's great to see you again, yeah?"

"Bella?" asks Jacob, with a derisive snort. "Is that how she introduced herself?"

Four pairs of eyes snap in Jacob's direction. He either doesn't notice the hostility in their regard, or he chooses to ignore it, as he laughs at me.

"Seriously, Izzy?" I look at the ground, embarrassed, as he shakes his head in continued amusement.

Edward clears his throat, his eyes blazing with green fire as he regards my husband. His hands immediately move to tug at his hair, which he's obviously remembered to wash, as it shines with copper and gold in the low light of the room.

"Actually, that's my fault," he says softly. "She introduced herself to us as Isabella, initially. I thought Izzy sounded like a little girl's name, so I took to calling her Bella."

"Which definitely fits her," Rose adds, winking at me. I feel my cheeks colour with her compliment. Jacob looks confused, and he shrugs his shoulders, nonplussed.

"I guess he doesn't know any Italian," Leah whispers to me, and I bite my lip to keep from smiling.

I look up as Edward takes a few steps towards me, looking a bit nervous. I realize he's uncertain about how to greet me with Jacob here. I open my arms, smiling up at him, and he pulls me into a tight, but brief embrace. He grips my arms and his green eyes look down into mine, his expression laced with concern. He raises one eyebrow, silently asking if I'm okay, and I nod my head once to let him know I'll be fine.

As Edward releases me, Jacob moves into gracious host mode, ushering everyone through to the living room. He catches my eye and jerks his head toward the kitchen. Obediently, I leave him to offer my friends pre-dinner drinks, whilst I check on the roast in the oven and stir the red wine gravy. Jacob walks in a few minutes later, carrying an unfamiliar bottle that I identify as Scotch, and begins retrieving glasses from the cupboards.

"You didn't tell me you were friends with Emmett McCarty!" he hisses.

I shrug in response. Though Edward and I had decided dinner here in tiny Forks was a better idea than trying to dodge paparazzi if we went out for dinner in Seattle, it didn't occur to me mention to Jake that Em was famous. He seemed so down to earth and genuine when I met him.

As Jacob goes to grab some ice out of the fridge, I stop him.

"If that's whiskey, they don't take ice in it." I say lowly.

"Uh huh, sure." Jacob rolls his eyes at my ignorance. He raises his eyebrow at me as he calls out toward the lounge room.

"Do you guys want ice?"

"NO!" Four voices all respond immediately, followed by Emmett's explanation.

"No, thank you Jacob, lad. Ice causes the whiskey to chill and it actually dulls the aromatics."

Jake shrugs and heads back into the lounge room with the bottle and glasses. Double-checking the meal, I follow after him. He lays out five glasses on the coffee table, pouring a generous measure of the amber liquid into each.

"Do you not drink whiskey, Jacob?" asks Rosalie suddenly.

"Yeah, of course I do." Jacob answers.

"Oh, I just thought you mustn't have wanted any - you've only brought out five glasses."

"Izzy won't have any." Jake says, simply. I look at the ground as I take a seat.

"Nonsense!" Leah exclaims. "You have to have some Bella! Emmett brought it, and it's some really old, really rare shit he got straight from the distillery, yeah? You've got to try it! Come on, let's get you a glass."

"Uh, um, no, it's okay." I stammer, not wanting to create a problem between my friends and Jacob. Leah has other ideas, however, and she grabs my hand to pull me out of the armchair and leads me back toward the kitchen. She studies me closely as I retrieve myself a glass, her dark eyes thoughtful.

"You drank whiskey with us in Vancouver," she says softly, and I can hear the question in her voice.

"I did. I, uh, I don't like the cheap stuff Jake usually buys, so maybe that's why he thought I wouldn't want any," I dissemble. Leah says nothing, but squeezes my shoulder gently as we make our way back into the living room.

"Dinner smells brilliant," she grins as she resumes her seat.

"Oh, Izzy's a pretty decent cook," Jake responds. "She's always been destined to be a homemaker. She's built for domesticity. I mean, look at those hips, they're totally made for child-bearing."

Four heads again snap in Jacob's direction as he takes a seat, handing me a (much smaller) measure of whiskey. He slings an arm across my shoulders, chuckling, and it takes an enormous amount of effort for me not to cringe away from his touch. I'm absolutely mortified at the dismissive way he is speaking about me in front of my new friends.

I can see the discomfort etched on Edward's face, and I notice Leah nudge him gently. He looks up, his green eyes meeting mine as Emmett and Rosalie engage Jacob in conversation about his work and living in Forks. He offers me a small smile, and I wonder if Jacob's words have caused him to realize I'm not really that interesting a person after all.

* * *

><p>"So full of deliciousness." Emmett grunts, pushing his enormous frame back from my dining table.<p>

"I'll say. You're a fabulous cook, Bella!" compliments Rose. Edward and Leah nod enthusiastically and I feel my cheeks glow pink once again.

I stand up to start collecting the plates and dishes, but Emmet and Edward both jump to their feet and tell me to have a seat. I protest, but Rose and Leah tell me to let them do it, that their Mums would be horrified if they allowed me to clean up after cooking them all such a wonderful meal. Jacob rolls his eyes, reclining in his seat.

A heavy pounding on the front door startles me, and Jacob quickly goes to answer it. I shoot him a questioning look as he stands, and he smirks at me in response before he leaves the dining room.

As I'm serving dessert, Jacob re-enters the kitchen with Jared and Paul in tow. I stifle a groan, and head back into the kitchen to grab more plates. I assume Jake texted them to flaunt the company he's currently keeping, and they've stopped by to rub shoulders with the rich and famous. Edward appears by my side, looking concerned as I serve out two extra plates of dessert.

"Are you okay, sweetheart? Who are those guys?"

"I'll be fine. They're guys Jake works with, Jared and Paul, and I don't really like them. Especially Jared, he creeps me out." I whisper back.

Edward nods, looking down at me thoughtfully.

"You know, nothing Jacob says will change my opinion of you, love. I can see you worrying about it, but don't for a second think that I, or any of us actually, will be swayed by anything he says." The sincerity of his words burn in his bright emerald eyes, and I offer him a weak smile.

"Thanks Edward." He kisses me on the top of the head, then quickly steps away as an abrasive voice sounds through the kitchen.

"There's my favourite little housewife!"

I look up to see Jared in the doorway, a leering grin on his face.

He grabs me into a hug, which I don't return. Instead, as soon as he releases me, I shove a plate of dessert into his hands and indicate we should return to the dining room. Edward follows us, smiling reassuringly at me when I glance up at him.

* * *

><p>It's the early hours of the morning when Edward, Leah, Emmett and Rose bundle themselves back up and prepare to head back to Seattle. They reassure me when I express my concern about them making a three hour journey this late; apparently, Emmett's driver has been dozing in the car and will be fine to take them back to Seattle.<p>

Fortunately, Jared and Paul decide it's time to leave as well, and they shake hands with everyone before heading off into the night, stumbling back to their own houses in the dark.

As they file out the door, Rose pulls a small gift bag out of the pocket of her woolen coat and presses it into my hands.

"A Blythe Yule an a Guid Hogmanay, Bella!" she says, laughing at my expression. Emmett booms with laughter and echoes the unfamiliar sentiment.

"Bloody Scots," sighs Leah.

They take turns saying their goodbyes and Merry Christmases, hugging me, and shaking hands with Jacob. Edward is the last to take his leave, hugging me tightly and pressing a small package into my hands.

"Merry Christmas, Bella. I'll see you soon, yeah?"

As we shut the door on the freezing early morning air, Jacob looks at me and grins.

"How cool was that, Izzy! Or should I say, _Bella_?" he snickers before continuing. "I can't believe you, of all people, managed to end up friends with someone as famous as that Emmett fucking McCarty. That's just insane. And seriously, those chicks are so fucking hot. Woah. Man, they're such lucky assholes to have scored girls that look like that." He's still shaking his head as he makes his way upstairs to get ready for bed.

* * *

><p>Christmas and the days surrounding it are utterly hectic. Rachel, along with Rebecca and her husband Kaikane, descend on us on Christmas Eve, and I spend most of the day rushing around to get them comfortable. Spare beds need to be made up, bags carted in from cars, meals prepared, and I end up crawling into bed that night wholly exhausted.<p>

Christmas Day isn't much better. I spend most of the day in the kitchen. Though it's snowing and freezing outside, the kitchen is sweltering as I rush back and forth making sure everything is cooked to perfection. Of course, the meal turns out fine, it's just the familial interactions that leave a lot to be desired. My Dad is working today, so we will see him tomorrow. I make a quick call to my Mom, who tells me about the all about the balmy warmth of Christmas on an Australian beach, and completely fails to wish me a Merry Christmas. It doesn't bother me so much: Mom means well, she's just completely scatter-brained. I have to cut the call short when she starts espousing the virtues of some new herb she's growing, as I can see Jacob growing irritated at me being on the phone instead of entertaining his family.

After lunch, Rebecca and Kaikane announce that they're expecting their first child, which delights Billy, and immediately has Jacob needling me about coming off the pill so we can have a family as well. I tell him that there's no rush, but he's not impressed. He tells me that he thinks I'm just being selfish, because being a mother will mean I can no longer put myself first. His words cut at me, and I wonder if he's right. Am I just too selfish? Do I always put myself first?

I'm still stewing over his words as I wash up the pots and pans from dinner. As I pause to wipe the hair off my forehead, I can hear Billy lecturing Jake, his voice stern. I know I shouldn't, but the tone of Billy's voice makes me uneasy, and I start to listen closely. What I hear knocks the wind out of me.

"I'm telling you Jacob. You need to take control of that woman. Jared said she's been running around with some famous foreigner?"

"Ha, not exactly," Jacob responds. "She's friends with some indie musician who freeloads of his more famous friend."

"You're letting her run around with another man, Jacob? You can't be serious, boy. That woman will end up embarrassing you like her mother did Charlie, like your mother did me. You need to be firmer with her, Jacob, make sure she knows what you expect from her."

"Dad, seriously, Izzy wouldn't have the guts to walk out on me."

"Still, Jacob, it might be time to start a family. Settle her down, pull her back from running around with these new friends, you know? A baby will keep her busy."

"She's pretty against the idea, Dad. She's says she's not ready. I keep telling her she's just being selfish and lazy."

"Take the option away, Jacob. You're the man of your house. Don't let yourself end up a cuckold, like Charlie or myself. She's Renee's daughter after all. She'll need to be kept in check or the next thing you know she'll be flitting around, whoring herself out just like her mother did."

"You're right Dad. She needs to know her place. She already embarrassed me sufficiently when she turned me down the first time I asked her to marry me. I forgave her that, but I won't let it happen again."

I frantically resume splashing around in the sink as Jacob's footsteps draw closer. I'm in a complete state of shock. Hearing Jacob and his father speak about both myself, and my mother, in such a fashion has sent my mind completely blank. I can't even begin to process what I've just heard.

A few days later the compact I keep my contraceptive pills in disappears from the drawer I keep it in. I have my suspicions, but I'm terrified of bringing it up with Jacob, fearing the spiteful words he will hurl my way. Instead, I make a doctor's appointment and get an implant inserted. I know I'm being subversive, and though the guilt weighs heavy upon me, it's also quite empowering to be taking this decision into my own hands.

* * *

><p>It's not until after the New Year, with all our visitors having returned from whence they came, that I remember the packages Rose and Edward pressed into my hands the night they came for dinner.<p>

I pull the two small gifts out of the drawer I'd stashed them in and look at them contemplatively. Christmas was a bit of a let down this year; Jacob gave me $200, stuffed into a blank card- so very thoughtful of him.

I open up the bag Rosalie gave me first, pulling out a card and a small box. The message on the card is short, but heartwarming nonetheless.

_Merry Christmas Bella! You're stuck with us now, lassie. We're all so glad to have met you, and look forward to continuing to get to know you. _

_With love from Rose, Emmett, Leah and Edward._

I unwrap the small box, which contains a pair of delicate emerald and diamond drop earrings that remind forcefully me of Edward's gaze. With the exception of my engagement ring, I've never been gifted jewelry before, and I feel a little overwhelmed at their generosity.

I turn to Edward's gift, sliding open the flat box. An unmarked CD and a note slide out. I gasp, overwhelmed as I read the note written in Edward's calligraphic script.

_Dearest Bella,_

_ Merry Christmas sweet girl! I wanted to give you something special and this is what I came up with. I managed to secure some time in a studio last week, and so this CD contains a handful of songs that I'll never record, nor play publicly. They're all songs I've written since meeting you, and they're all songs you've inspired. Remember, Bella, I'll walk beside you as long as it takes. _

_ Yours always, Edward._

I'm completely overwhelmed at the magnitude of his gift. It still seems so strange to me; only a few months ago I spent hours watching him on YouTube, and now he's actually written and recorded songs just for me. Grateful that I'm currently home alone, I slide the CD into our iMac with shaking hands, ripping the tracks straight into iTunes, whilst the music starts to play.

I sit, lost in Edward's beautiful melodies, his incredible poetry. It's overwhelming, knowing that he wrote each of these songs for me. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. It's the most heartfelt, thoughtful gift I've ever received. And then Edward gives me a far greater gift than he realizes, for these brief moments, he restores to me my joy in music.

I grab out my phone, intending on calling him to thank him, when I realize there is a card taped to the back of the CD case.

It's a business card.

**Dr Eleazar Denali  
><strong>**Psychiatrist  
><strong>**(360) 227 1276**

I turn it over in my hands, nervously, and I see that there is writing on the back. In Edward's hand, it reads:

_Tues Jan 11, 5pm.  
><em>_I'll come with you._


	14. Jan  Feb 2011

**Chapter 11: Jan – Feb 2011**

**A/N: I don't own Twilight. Still. I do claim this story line though.**

**Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews and messages. It's inspiring, and humbling, to know so many of you are so emotionally invested in Bella's journey. **

**Please be warned, this chapter deals with depression, abuse, and unromantic sex.**

* * *

><p>A ringing noise startles me out of my daze; it's quite possible I've been staring at a spot on the bedroom wall for almost an hour.<p>

"Hello?" I'm out of breath as I finally snatch it up.

"Hey kiddo, you okay?" The familiar voice on the line makes me smile.

"Yeah, I'm fine Dad, I was upstairs and I had to run to reach the phone."

"Ah. So how are you, honey?"

"I'm well, Dad."

"How's Jake, is he at home today?"

"No, no, he went fishing with Jared, I think. He said not to expect him home until late afternoon."

"Huh, right. Anyway, Izzy, I was just calling to, uh, to let you know you left one of those casserole dish things here on Boxing Day."

"Oh, right. Thanks for letting me know, Dad."

"Do you want me to drop it around, honey? I am about to head to work and I can drop it around on the way."

"Uh, if it's not a problem, sure. I don't need it urgently, so it's no big deal."

"Okay, well, if I leave now we can have a cup of coffee before I'm due at the station."

"Sure."

As Dad ends the call, I frown at the blank screen in my hand, puzzled. Dad hates the phone, and he'll usually just drop over without calling first. I shrug, before heading into the kitchen to brew some coffee.

Dad arrives within five minutes; Forks is a small town, and he only lives around the corner. He hands me the missing casserole dish, before he stamps off his boots and shrugs out of his coat, his face pink from the cold.

"Coffee smells good, Iz."

"Thanks, Dad. It's a Honduran microlot I got posted out from Seattle."

Dad rolls his eyes at me, but grins nonetheless.

"You and your fancy coffees, Iz."

"You haven't had one you haven't liked yet, Dad." I tease.

"It's true," he grins. "You make the best coffee in town, honey."

I snort in amusement. For all his blustering about my coffee being too fancy for him, Dad won't ever turn it down; in fact, he'll often make non-so-subtle hints about needing a caffeine fix whenever he visits.

Within a few minutes, we're settled at the kitchen table, mugs of coffee warming cold hands, the heady aroma swirling around us. We don't talk at first, enjoying the coffee and the company. Dad and I have never felt the need to fill silence with idle chatter, and it's something I find comfort in.

"So, Izzy, honey," Dad starts finally, and I smile behind my mug. I'd been wondering how long he'd take to reveal exactly why he wanted to drop by; I'm certain he couldn't care less about my crockery.

"How are you, sweetheart? Are you doing, okay? You seemed a bit down over Christmas."

"Uh, yeah, Dad, I'm okay. I've been a bit flat, nothing too serious, though." I mumble, suddenly uneasy about where this conversation is heading.

"Uh, did, um," Dad, pauses, scrubbing at his face; I recognize it as a nervous gesture. He sighs before he continues.

"Did you, uh, did your mother call you, Iz? For Christmas and New Year's?"

"Yeah. Well, I called her on Christmas Day, and she called me on New Year's Eve – which was New Year's Day in Australia." I chuckle, I can't imagine Mom will ever get her head around the differences in time zones.

"She'll never figure out the time zones." I laugh again as Dad echoes my thoughts out loud.

"I'm glad she remembered to call," he sighs.

"I was hoping you weren't down because she'd upset you."

I frown at Dad's words.

"No, no. Things with Mom are okay. I miss her, but we talk pretty regularly." I feel a bit awkward talking about Mom with Dad. It's been over twenty years since they split, and I don't know that Dad's even had more than a handful of dates in that time.

"You should go visit her," he suggests, staring into his coffee mug.

I sigh, I really want to, but Jacob is just so deadset against the idea.

"Um, we can't really afford it right now, and Jake doesn't really have the option of taking any time off at the moment."

Dad frowns, his moustache drooping a bit.

"Yeah. Sure, sure. So, you sure everything's okay, Iz? I've been worried about you honey …" Dad beaks off, and I can tell he's making the effort to ask out of concern for me, despite the discomfort it causes him. I feel a rush of gratitude and love towards him - which makes me brave enough to respond with the truth – well, part of it anyway.

"I've been pretty down, Dad. I, um, I think I might be a bit depressed. But uh, I'm taking some steps to deal with it. I'm seeing a doctor in a few days time actually. I'll be okay, Dad." I know my tone turns pleading, begging him to understand, to not push me on the issue.

Dad looks at me thoughtfully, his dark eyes sympathetic and compassionate.

"I'm glad you're doing something proactive Izzy. Uh, I'll always be here if you need me, okay honey? I, uh, I know I'm not real good at talking about feelings and shit, but I love you kiddo."

"I love you too, Dad."

"And, you know, I've never mentioned it to anyone but I saw a shrink for a while, around when your Mom left with you. It helped." I appreciate what Dad's trying to convey in his less than loquacious way – he's worried for me, but he thinks I'm doing the right thing.

The mention of my Mom leaving reminds me of the conversation between Billy and Jacob that I overheard on Christmas Day. I've replayed it over and over in my mind, and I'm still unsettled by it.

"Dad –" I start, suddenly nervous about bringing up the subject.

"Can I ask you something … about Mom?"

"Anything, honey." Dad's dark eyes meet my own, which they resemble so closely.

"Were you embarrassed by Mom?" Billy's words ring in mind as I speak.

"Embarrassed? What do you mean, Isabella?"

"Uh, I mean, when she left you, did that, I mean, did that embarrass you?"

"Isabella." Dad sighs, putting his head in his hands momentarily before he looks up and holds my gaze.

"Isabella. Your Mom didn't just leave me overnight. That wasn't a decision she made on a whim, as unusual as that may be for Renee. You were too young to know it at the time, but we spent a long time, months even, talking things over, trying to make things work. It was something we eventually decided together, after many tears, many arguments, and many conversations. We just didn't … fit. We tried to make it work, for your sake, but we just couldn't. So we decided that her moving back to Phoenix to be near your grandparents was the best option."

Dad takes a sip of his coffee, and exhales heavily before he continues.

"She did the best she could to be the mom you needed, and yeah, she probably made mistakes, but no parent is perfect. She loves you so much, Iz, and she did everything she could to raise you right, even though it meant being a single mom. Do you know sweetheart; she even called me when she met Phil and first started dating him? I think you were about twelve or thirteen. He was the first guy she dated after we split; she may be flighty, but she was never one for one-night stands or meaningless affairs. So when she met Phil, she was so worried about how you'd take it, and she didn't want either of us to think she was trying to replace me, give you a new dad, you know?"

I'm startled by this information; it doesn't fit with Billy's description of Renee as a whore at all. Dad can clearly see my surprise written across my face.

"I'm so sorry that we didn't make all that clear enough to you at the time, Izzy. But no, honey, your mother did not embarrass me. Sure, she's flighty as hell, and probably slightly crazy, but I loved her because of those things, not in spite of them. She was, I guess, everything I'm not. Carefree, capricious, somewhat irresponsible, I suppose. But she was always so passionate. And, well, Forks was sapping that out of her. I couldn't ask her to stay somewhere she was so miserable."

I stare at my empty coffee cup, trying to process everything I've just been told. It certainly doesn't at all match up with the picture of my mom Billy was trying to paint to Jacob. It occurs to me just how much Dad has given up, for Mom, for me.

"You're a good man, Dad." I say forcefully. He shakes his head as he looks at the table, embarrassed, but I press on.

"I'm serious, Dad. You sacrificed a lot for Mom's happiness, and mine. That can't have been easy, to have put her happiness first, at the cost of your own."

Dad shrugs, but looks me in the eye as he speaks.

"That's what you do for love, Izzy."

* * *

><p>Tuesday, January 11th takes forever to arrive, mainly because I haven't seen Edward since before Christmas. We speak most days, but I miss him. If I can forget about why I'll be seeing him, I'm even excited about the day drawing near.<p>

Once it arrives, it's a different story. I'm a nervous wreck for the entire day, which day seems to fly past, of course, because I'm absolutely not ready for the afternoon to come. The idea of telling a complete stranger all about the fucked up workings of my mind is paralyzing. What if he tells me I'm not depressed, that I'm just selfish and I need to get over myself? What if I am depressed? What will that mean for me?

I cling to the fact that Edward set up the appointment for me, that Dr Denali came highly recommended by a good friend of Edward's father. And I trust Edward to always have my best interests at heart; I know he wouldn't ask me to do this if he truly didn't believe it would be good for me. If I examined that idea closely, I'd realize it's pretty absurd that I can say that with certainty about Edward, but I couldn't say the same thing about the man I bound my life to. It's too painful to contemplate, so I don't.

Dr Denali's office is in Port Angeles, so Edward told me he'd meet me in the café we visited before Christmas at 4:30pm. Several times throughout the day I've picked up my phone to beg him to cancel the appointment, but each time, something has stopped me. Mostly, it's the fact that I really want to see Edward, however briefly. But also, there's part of me that realizes I just can't continue to live the way I am. I'm scared. I'm terrified of what this afternoon's appointment will mean for me, but the fear that life will continue the way it has been for the next five, ten, twenty years is so much worse to contemplate.

I dismiss my last class a few minutes early, unable to stand the thought waiting for the final bell to ring.

I make my way back to my office, vaguely aware of other staff greeting me as they pass. I need to think of an explanation to give Jacob for my absence this evening, as well as the fact that he'll have to get his own dinner. Alice's tiny frame appears in my periphery, her dark head bobbing as she makes her way across the quad. I take a deep breath, summoning up the courage to ask for her help.

"Alice! ALICE!" She whirls around, shifting the weight of the stack of portfolios she's carrying, and tapping her stiletto-clad toe as she waits for me to catch up.

"Hey Izzy, is everything okay?" Alice smile is friendly, but I can see the concern in her sharp grey eyes.

"Um, not really," I mumble. "Look, Alice, I need your help. I, uh, I have a doctor's appointment in Port Angeles this evening, but, uh, I …" I take a deep breath to steady myself before I continue.

"I''dbeokaywithmesayingI'mgoingoutwithyou." The words tumble out unintelligibly, my hands shaking as they clutch the pile of essays I'm carrying.

"Iz, calm down. Can you repeat that please? I didn't understand a word past the fact you have a doctor's appointment in the port."

"Uh, yeah, I have an appointment, and uh, I don't really want to tell Jacob about it. And, I, shit … I was hoping you would be okay with me telling him I'm going out with you." I look at the ground, afraid of Alice's reaction to the fact I've just asked her to help me lie to my husband.

"Izzy, what's going on? Are you okay? Wait, are you …." Alice lowers her voice to a whisper and looks around to make sure we're not being overheard, "Are you pregnant, Izzy?"

"No, NO! God, no. Alice, no I'm not." My hands begin to shake violently and the piles of essays are almost rattling in time with my nerves.

"I, oh fuck, Alice … Look … I think I'm depressed. I'm going to see a psychiatrist. And I'm scared to tell Jake, because he thinks that I'm just being self-indulgent and that I just need to look at things positively and I'll be fine. But I've tried Allie, and it doesn't work. I've tried to just be happy, and I can't." I can feel myself starting to lose it, and clearly Alice can see this as well.

"Shh, Izzy, it's okay. I'm sad you've taken this long to tell me, but I'm so relieved you're going to see someone about getting help. I'm proud of you, Izzy, that's a big step to take." She shifts the folios on to her hip, hefting them like she would a big, square, paper baby.

"I'd hug you, but yeah, kind of got my hands full here." She sighs, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"I don't really understand why Jacob would have a problem with you seeing a doctor Iz. Surely he can't object to that. But if you're not ready to tell him, then yes, I suppose I'm fine with you using me as a cover. Just make sure you tell me when you have your next appointment, so I don't run into him in the grocery store or something, okay?"

I thank Alice profusely before we say our goodbyes and I head for my SUV.

It's only as I'm dialing Jacob's number that I realize the flaw in my plan.

"What's up, Isabella?"

"Uh, hi, Jake. Listen, honey, I'm going into Port Angeles this evening with Alice, okay? I probably won't be home until about 8 o'clock."

"What?"

"I said, I'm goi-"

"I heard what you fucking said, Isabella. What I want to know is why you're going to town on a school night with Alice fucking Brandon, when I have told you time and time again that I don't think she's good company for you."

Shit. I forgot about that. I sigh, summoning up the energy to argue.

"We've spoken about this Jacob, Alice has proven herself time and time again as a great friend." The most recent instance not five minutes ago, I think to myself.

"I don't want to argue with you right now Jacob, but I'm going to Port Angeles this afternoon. I won't be home too late, but I won't be home in time to cook dinner. So, you'll need to make your own dinner, okay?"

"You are a selfish fucking bitch, Isabella Black. I am not happy about this, and we'll be speaking about this more when you get home. You're just fucking lucky I'm on a job site right now."

I shudder at the threaten tone of Jacob's voice, and he ends the call still swearing profusely. I again wonder whether I shouldn't just cancel this appointment. As soon as the thought enters my brain, my phone begins vibrate and Nick Cave starts crooning.

"Hey Edward," I smile in spite of the anxiety.

"Are you on your way, sweetheart?"

"Yeah, I am. Uh, listen Edward, I don't know –"

"Bella, love. Please don't back out now. You need to do this. You know that. I know it's scary, but please love, do this for yourself." His soft British accent soothes me after the stress of speaking with Jacob.

"Okay, Edward. I'll do it. But only because you're asking me."

"No, Bella. You can't do it for me, love. You have to do this for you, sweetheart."

"Okay, okay." I sniffle as I agree, my emotions already getting the best of me.

"Oh, sweet girl. It'll be okay. Dad asked around about psychiatrists and psychologists on the West Coast of the US, and Dr Denali seems to be very highly recommended, yeah? And even if you don't like him, that's okay, you can find someone else. It's important you find someone you feel you can trust, someone you can talk to easily. So think of this as a trial, okay love?"

I know Edward is speaking from his own experience, which comforts me greatly. If he'd never told me his story, I wouldn't have known he'd fought depression. Realizing this gives me hope, and suddenly I feel a lot better about this afternoon.

"Thank you Edward. That's exactly what I needed to hear."

"It's nothing, love. I'll see you soon, okay? Drive safely."

An hour later, I enter the café, frantically looking around for Edward. The second I stepped out of the car my nerves returned full force, and I'm shaking so badly it's a wonder I'm still standing.

I can't see Edward, so I decide I'll wait outside for him. I turn around and almost run into a plaid-covered chest in my hurry. Looking up to apologize, my face stretches into a grin and I throw my arms around the man standing in front of me. Edward wraps his arms around me, and once again, I'm overwhelmed by the sense of security I feel in his embrace. He kisses my head gently, breathing deeply.

"Bella, love, you're shaking" he murmurs. "It's going to be alright sweetheart. Come on. I don't think you need any caffeine, let's just go for a bit of a walk."

We walk along the footpath slowly, both of us smiling as we pass the tattoo parlour. We make our way around the streets of Port Angeles for the half hour or so before my appointment, catching up on each other's news. I try to express my thanks for his Christmas gift, but my words seem so inadequate. Edward waves me off, ducking his head and threading his fingers through his hair, embarrassed by my gratitude.

It's all too soon that Edward stops outside a glass door.

"It's five o'clock, sweet girl."

He opens the door and ushers me into a well-lit waiting room. He squeezes my hand in support as we approach the woman sitting behind the counter. She smiles genuinely at the two of us, and I grip Edward's hand tighter as she speaks.

"Good evening. Can I help you?"

"My friend here has an appointment to see Dr Denali this evening."

Edward smiles down at me gently, as the woman turns her attention to me.

"Isabella Swan?"

"Ye-yes." I stutter.

"Hi Isabella, my name is Carmen. If I could just get you to fill in these forms, and Dr Denali will be ready to see you soon."

Edward and I take a seat, and I quickly fill out the required information, as well as answer a survey that asks me about recent feelings of depression. I slide the forms back across to Carmen who winks at me and smiles warmly. My stomach is churning and my knee is frantically bouncing with nerves. Edward gently places his hand on my knee to still it. I take a deep breath and Edward smiles at me encouragingly. He shoves his hands back into his pockets, closing his eyes briefly. All too soon, a door at the end of the room opens.

"Isabella Swan?"

I stand up, wringing my clammy hands. I'm so nervous that I feel as though I might faint.

Edward stands up as well, and for a moment I'm confused, knowing he can't come in with me. He squeezes my arms gently and I look up into his green eyes.

"It's okay, Bella. I know you're scared, but dearest, I'm so proud of you. I know how hard it is to take this step. You'll be fine, sweet girl. And I'll here when you finish, okay?"

"You don't have to wait," I mumble.

"I know. But I will." He squeezes me gently once more, and places a kiss on my forehead before he ducks back out into the street.

I take a deep breath before I turn and follow Dr Denali into his office.

* * *

><p>"Isabella, I'm Dr Denali, but please, call me Eleazar." Dr Denali looks to be in his late sixties. His olive skin tone suggests Mediterranean ancestry, and his dark eyes are friendly and wise.<p>

"Uh, it's Bella." I offer.

He smiles warmly at me, and I take a deep breath before sitting down on the leather couch. Dr Denali takes a seat in the arm chair across from me- it's a relief to me that he's not seated at his desk, which I fear would make me feel like a science experiment he was studying. Though my nerves are easily, my knee continues it's bouncing, and my fingers make there way to the edges of my cardigan sleeves, twisting and pulling at them.

"Bella, then. I know it's hard walking in here," he gestures vaguely at the room. "And there are a few things you should know first."

Dr Denali goes over a few things to do with confidentiality, both in general, and legal terms, before he folds his hands together and looks at me seriously.

"Bella, why don't you start by telling me why you're here?"

I take a deep breath before I launch into my explanation of the last few months of my life; the sadness, despair and exhaustion that plagues me, the incessant crying, the desire not for death but for oblivion. I shed a few tears, but mostly manage to keep good control of my emotions as I explain the crushing weight I feel so often. Eleazar takes a few notes occasionally, and asks a few questions of clarification, but mostly just listens as I speak.

"And the young man who was with you, he's the friend who encouraged you to make this appointment?"

"Yes, Edward. He made the appointment for me. He, uh, he's struggled with depression too, and he had a friend do the same thing for him. So, I guess, he knew it'd be hard for me to do this, but he also knows firsthand how important it is."

Dr Denali nods in understanding.

"So, Bella, would you tell me a bit about your life, in general? Tell me about your family, your work, the things you enjoy?"

Dr Denali's quiet attentiveness sets me at ease, and I begin to talk more freely. I tell him about teaching, the things that I love, and the things that frustrate me. I talk about my Mom and Dad, and he asks me a few questions about their divorce. I talk about Phoenix, about moving to Forks, college in Seattle, and then coming back to Forks. I talk about my friends and colleagues. Eventually, I talk about Jacob; I explain our history, and the difficulties I'm having with meeting his expectations. When Dr Denali asks me how I feel about our relationship, the tears begin to fall, this time in earnest. I sob as I explain that I feel so stupid and juvenile talking about my husband "being mean to me", but that I have such a hard time coping with Jake's spiteful words. He asks me to give him a few examples to explain the different feelings I express, and he jots down a few more notes, as I oblige.

When I finish, I'm surprised to realize I've been speaking for close to an hour. Eleazar looks at me thoughtfully, before he smiles softly.

"Well, Bella. If it's alright with you, I'd like to meet with you twice a week for a little while. Does that sound okay to you? I'm very concerned about the feelings of despair you describe. The number on this card; you can call it any hour of the day or night if those feelings become overwhelming, okay? I want you to promise me that you'll call if those feelings become beyond what you can bear, alright?"

I nod my understanding as I take the card.

"I promise," I whisper. My voice is scratchy and hoarse from talking through my tears.

"Bella, I can't promise you it will be easy or quick, but I have hope for you. You definitely aren't a hopeless case, so don't let yourself believe that."

I smile weakly as I rise. Despite the exhaustion I'm feeling from having to tell my story over again, I feel somewhat lighter for having done something about my situation. I feel empowered for having broken my silence.

"Just make an appointment with Carmen for whenever suits you, okay? I'll see you next week Isabella."

I open the door of Dr Denali's office, and am slightly surprised to see Edward pacing the room; he looks agitated, his hands tugging at his hair. At the sound of the door opening he spins to look at me, and heaves a sigh of relief as he sees the hesitant smile on my face.

He pulls me into a fierce embrace, and I almost feel like _I'm_ comforting _him_.

"Are you okay?" he says lowly.

"Yeah, I am actually," I whisper. "It feels empowering to have spoken out."

Edward squeezes me once more, before releasing me, bending slightly to examine my face. He gently wipes the residual tears from my cheeks, and presses a kiss to my forehead.

"I was so worried Bella. I know it's not easy to pour your soul out to a stranger, and I was so worried I'd pushed you to do this before you were ready."

"No, Edward. I'm s grateful you did. Thank you."

I make appointments for Monday and Thursday, next relieved that Jacob has taken another three-week job in Seattle, starting Monday, so I won't have to lie or make excuses to him. Realizing this reminds me of the fact that I have to return home to face his fury, and my hands begin to shake as I finalize the payment for today's visit. Edward notices, and I see him frown, but he waits until we are out of the doctor's office to ask me if I'm okay.

"Uh, yeah. I'll be okay. It's just that, ah, I told Jacob I was going to hang out with Alice and he wasn't happy with me. And so, yeah, now I have to go home and face that unhappiness."

A flash of anger passes across Edward's face; it's not an emotion I've seen him wear often.

"Hey, it'll be okay Edward. He'll yell for a bit, but he'll get over it."

Edward's shoulders sag and his green eyes examine me with gentle concern. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he nods and exhales a deep breath. He walks me to my car, opening the door for me and helping me in. We say our goodbyes softly, and he promises to meet me before my appointments next week. I tell him it's not necessary, that if he has things to do I'll cope just fine. He waves away my concerns, telling me that it's fine.

"If you need to talk to someone, you can call me anytime, okay, love?"

I nod and whisper my thanks, before I turn the key in the ignition and begin the journey home to Forks.

On the drive home it occurs to me that Edward has been in the States now for well over six months. It hits me like a ton of bricks that he can't stay here indefinitely, that at some point he'll be returning home to London. As far as I'm aware, he has no gigs lined up in the US, and he's currently sleeping in the spare room of the flat Emmett has rented in Seattle. I feel myself begin to panic at the thought of my best friend being on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, nearly 5000 miles between us. I feel sick at my own selfishness in wanting him close; I've come to depend so heavily on his quiet empathy, his compassion and his kind words.

* * *

><p>It's 7:30pm when I arrive home. All the lights are off, though Jacob's pickup is in the driveway. I'm feeling apprehensive as I unlock the front door, confused as to why the house is in a state of darkness; surely Jake hasn't already gone to bed. I snap on a few lights, making my way to the kitchen. Clearly, Jacob is not home. I can't decide if I'm relieved or concerned. I dial his number but it goes to voicemail, so I leave a message, explaining that I'm home, and that I'm wondering where he is.<p>

I'm not hungry, but I recognize that I need to eat. I make some toast and pour myself a glass of root beer. It's as I'm placing my plate and glass into the dishwasher that I hear the front door lock siding open. Jacob stomps into the kitchen, and I immediately realize he must have gone to the pub; I can smell the beer on him when he slumps into the chair across from me at the kitchen table. Thankfully, he obviously walked or took a cab.

He studies me intently for a while, his gaze hard and unforgiving.

"So obviously, Alice is more important to you than I am," he begins.

"No Jacob, you know that's not true."

"Sure feels like it, Iz."

I sigh, and decide the best thing is to come clean with him. I hate lying, and it occurs to me that I shouldn't have to. Surely, once I explain the way I've been feeling, he'll understand. He'll want me to get help so that I can be happy again.

"Jake, I wasn't with Alice."

Jacob's eyes glint dangerously.

"Where were you, Isabella?"

"I was in Port Angeles, Jake, like I said. But, I didn't go with Alice. I, um, I went to see a psychiatrist. I, uh – I've been feeling really depressed for a while and I'm really struggling with it so I decided to do something about it and get some help." I force the words out in a rush, trying to get my confession over with quickly.

Jacob's dark eyes rake up and down my face, and his lips curl into a sneer.

"So I was right about you being a psychotic bitch, huh?' he laughs bitterly. "Fucking great. My wife's a head-case."

"I'm not a head-case, nor am I psychotic, Jacob." I say, softly, trying to contain the hurt his harsh words have caused.

"Uh-huh, yeah, 'cos _normal_ people need to see psychiatrists, do they?"

I don't respond immediately and Jacob snorts again.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. God, that's just so fucking embarrassing. Ugh, my wife the mental patient."

Jacob suddenly grabs me by the arms, his large hands grip my upper arms like steel vices, and he shakes me twice as he hisses at me, his voice low and dangerous.

"For fuck's sake Izzy, don't you dare tell anyone you're seeing shrink!"

He releases me just as quickly, shaking his head in disgust.

I should know fighting him won't do any good, but I just so fervently want Jacob to understand. I tell myself that if he truly knew what I was going through, he'd be there for me the way I want him to. I'm so utterly desperate to receive some compassion and kindness and warmth from him.

"Look, Jacob. If you for a minute believe that feeling the way I do is something I can control, then you're sorely mistaken. I'd give anything not have to feel the despair that sits on me like a block of lead most days. You've seen me struggle to get out of bed each morning. You've seen the way I spend half of my time crying. I don't want to feel like that anymore. I can't bear to feel like that anymore. I want to feel happy again, I want to enjoy life again. So, yes, I'm seeing a psychiatrist, because nothing else has worked. I'm sorry if you think it's embarrassing, but surely you can understand why I need to do this?"

"What are people going think, huh? Everyone's always expected you to end up proving you're just like your mom, but seriously, ugh! FUCK! Why are you doing this to me? I married you when no one else would even look twice at you. I've given you a house, everything you've ever fucking needed, and you still can't be happy? You must be the most selfish bitch on the planet. Depressed my ass, Iz. You're just a lazy slut. Just get off your fat ass and stop telling yourself how hard you've got it."

I can't stop the tears that begin to fall at his harsh words. Despite his coldness over the months, I still love Jacob, and I'm starving for his approval, for his kindness and affection. Instead, when I come to him at my weakest, desperate for him to understand, he offers me cruel and spiteful words. The pain in my chest rips through me, and I feel as though I might faint or vomit.

"STOP. CRYING." He spits at me through clenched teeth.

I reach my shaky hands towards him, desperation flooding through me.

"Please Jake, you have to understand … I love you, and I'm sorry if I'm embarrassing you, but I can't keep living with this sadness, it's crushing me."

"You love me?" Jake snorts incredulously. "You only love yourself Isabella. If you loved me, you'd pull your head out and get over yourself. If you loved me, you'd stop whining every time I ask you to fucking have sex with me. If you loved me, you'd put some effort into your appearance. If you loved me, you'd stop associating with that fucking annoying evil pixie you call your best friend. You'd make an effort around the house, you'd make me feel as though you were actually happy to see me, and you'd fucking stop being so damned selfish and you'd give me a fucking family!"

Jacob's voice rises as he speaks, and he's shouting by the time he reaches the end of his rant.

I sob, reaching my hand out to him again, begging him to hold me, to show me that he still wants me, that he does care.

Instead, he turns his back on me, shaking his head in disgust. I collapse to my knees, pain and hurt stabbing through me until I feel as though I can't breathe. Steel bands encircle my lungs, and I'm gasping desperately, trying to fill my lungs with air. I can feel myself begin to hyperventilate, sobs and gasps wracking my body, slumped on the kitchen floor. Sheer agony lances through my heart, and in that moment, I truly do long for death, for oblivion, for anything to take away the force of despair that consumes me.

Jacob takes two steps back towards me, and I register a sharp sting across my cheek as he slaps me.

"Pull yourself together, Isabella!"

Stunned, I fall silent, hiccupping slightly.

"Get up, and go wash your face. Then come to bed." He speaks slowly, as though to an imbecile.

I robotically obey Jacob's instructions, too overwrought to contemplate fighting. When I climb into bed, he immediately begins pawing and groping at me. Desperate for his affection, in whatever form, I don't protest. As he thrusts his body into mine, I force myself to believe that this is how Jacob chooses to show me that he loves me.

* * *

><p>When Jacob leaves for Seattle on Monday morning, it's as though I snap out of a trance. I crash badly, and have to take the day off school, again. I manage to drag myself to my appointment with Dr Denali, knowing I need to see him. I'm quiet and distant with Edward, but he's patient with me, gently kissing my forehead as I head into the psychiatrist's room for my appointment. His simple gesture causes me to burst into tears, as the door swings closed, cutting me off from his gentle compassion.<p>

Why can't Jacob be – I cut the thought of before it can take life, knowing it will only destroy me to contemplate it.

* * *

><p>After three weeks of biweekly appointments, I'm sitting in Dr Denali's office, the hour coming to it's end.<p>

Eleazar clears his throat and clicks his pen a few times. Over the weeks, he's become almost a grandfatherly figure. He's gentle, compassionate and patient, and it's getting easier to open up and be honest about the things that cause me such distress. He still carefully maintains a respectful, professional distance, but he does seem to have a genuine concern for me that I appreciate immensely.

"Isabella, there are a lot of things going on in your life at the moment, between your depression and your situation at home. You've been incredibly strong to endure as much as you have, for as long as you have, okay? Now, I want to suggest something, which you might feel apprehensive about, but that I think would help you a lot."

I look at him, frowning.

"Bella, how would you feel about taking antidepressants?"

I frown, and then, as has become my custom in this room, begin to think out loud.

"Uh, I'm not sure how I'd feel about it. I mean I don't feel great about taking a pill that will change how I feel, that feels weird. I don't like the idea of admitting I might need them. I'd be worried I'd no longer feel like myself. Will they make me a zombie? Will I still be able to feel upset when sad things happen, or will I be like some manically smiling crazy person? That scares me a bit. But, on the other hand, clearly, I can't continue the way I am, and I'll try almost anything if it could help …"

Eleazar smiles gently at me.

"Do you have any friends who take antidepressants, Bella?"

"Uh, no- Oh! Yeah, I do actually." I abruptly remember Edward told me he takes antidepressants, and that actually alleviates some of my fears almost immediately.

"One of my closest friends takes them, and I would never have known. So, I guess that answers some things. I'll still be able to feel happy or sad or angry, as it's appropriate, right?"

Dr Denali nods in agreement, his lips twitching as he watches me continue to talk to myself.

"I'd never have picked it, he seems well adjusted. So … that's a good thing. But still, admitting I need them … that scares the hell out of me."

"Bella, do you think a diabetic is weak or pathetic for taking insulin? Or if you have cancer, is it weak to admit you need chemotherapy?"

"Of course not!"

"I know it's not exactly the same thing, and unfortunately, there's still a lot of stigma associated with mental health. However, we know that sometimes it's related to a chemical imbalance, and so getting those chemicals sorted out can help a lot."

I nod in understanding, still contemplating the option.

"Okay. I'll try it."

"I need you to understand Isabella, that they may help, but they may not. The reason I suggest them is so that, hopefully, the depressive feelings you're dealing with will lift sufficiently so that you can work through some things with clarity."

Dr Denali writes me a prescription, explaining that I ought to feel some improvement within a week. If I don't, he says we'll change the dosage, or try a different type of antidepressant. He tells me seriously that I must let him know immediately if I start to feel worse or suicidal, and he also advises me that I might feel a little woozy for the first week or two, and to avoid driving if that's the case. He also explains that this isn't a magic cure, and he still wants to see me twice weekly for a while, and then we'll ease back to weekly visits if it appears things are going well.

Edward smiles in understanding when I explain this all to him after my appointment. He tells me that he's proud of me, that he knows how hard it is, and that he thinks I'm strong for having come as far as I have. He walks with me to the twenty-four hour pharmacy as I fill the prescription, and hugs me tightly when he tucks me into my car to head home. His unconditional support means so much to me right now; having someone else believe in me gives me the strength I need to believe in myself.

* * *

><p><strong>This was another difficult chapter to write. Two steps forward, two steps back. Please, have faith in Bella, lovely readers. Things will start to change drastically soon.<strong>


	15. FebMarch 2011

**Chapter 12: February - March 2011**

**A/N: I still don't own Twilight, I don't think I'd want to either. I do really want my own scruffy British singer-songwriter though. It's my birthday on Saturday, maybe I'll get one then ….**

**Thanks for your reviews and messages. I love receiving every single one of them. **

**I know some of you are struggling to be patient with Bella, and I can understand that. She has, however, just taken a huge step forward and things will start to change quite drastically. There is also just a touch of something sweet mid-chapter that I hope you'll all enjoy :)**

**My knowledge of depression and emotional abuse is experiential and anecdotal; it's not based on any training, so please keep this in mind.**

* * *

><p>The first few weeks on the medication are awful. I feel queasy and nauseous all the time. I shiver a lot, even though I'm not necessarily cold. My hands tremble and shake. I feel woozy and dizzy and I sleep a lot. I have to ask Alice to drive me to and from school for a week or so, as I'm just too disoriented to get behind the wheel of a car. I end up having to take a bus to and from Port Angeles for my appointments with Dr Denali.<p>

For his part, Jacob deals with me in his usual fashion. When he came back from the job in Seattle, he continued on as always. I don't know why this surprises me, but it always does. No matter how big the fight or emotional meltdown, he simply returns and continues about his life as though it didn't happen. I don't know whether to be relieved, hurt or angered by this.

After a week, I'm not feeling any better emotionally, so Eleazar doubles the dose I'm taking. I don't tell Jacob about the antidepressants, and I fill the prescriptions in Port Angeles, rather than Forks. If he's embarrassed about me seeing a psychiatrist, I can't imagine how he'll take the idea that I'm being medicated. Instead, I try to explain away my symptoms as the flu. When he catches me regurgitating my breakfast one morning, he forces me to take a pregnancy test. He's inexplicably disappointed when it returns a negative result.

I confide in Edward that my deepest fear is that the medication will make me, "not me". I'm concerned that my emotions will be artificial, that the things that make me who I am will change. He doesn't sweep my concerns away, but listens to me, and tells me he understands where I'm coming from. His experience was somewhat different to mine in that sense; he didn't want to be himself anymore. Still, he's a constant source of support to me. I feel guilty sometimes, depending on him as much as I do.

Eventually, after about a fortnight, the physical symptoms dissipate sufficiently, and I begin to feel a little more like myself. I have many small victories over the course of the next month. I go a week without crying. I go to the movies with Alice and laugh hysterically at some brainless comedy. I return to my pattern of early rising. I spend an hour one evening in late February surfing through new music on iTunes. When I send Edward a text to ask him if he's heard of James Vincent McMorrow because I think I'm in love with his voice, he calls me back immediately, his voice full of joy as he tells me this is the first time I've initiated a conversation about music in months. I smile, thankful for a friend who can point these triumphs out to me.

My sessions with Eleazar continue, but the focus shifts slightly. With me feeling so much more in control of my emotional state, we spend a lot of time focusing on my self-perception. He helps me to work on techniques to try and minimize the negative self-talk I'm so prone to. We discuss my tendency to believe the worst of myself, my habit of taking blame for things I'm not responsible for, my low sense of my own worth. It's hard work: I don't like talking about myself, and I find it hard to separate what I believe about myself from what Jacob has told me about myself.

All through January and February, Edward faithfully waits for me through every appointment. When I come out in tears, he holds me close and comforts me; when I come out smiling, he grins with delight. He is my rock, a staunch supporter, and I will never, ever be able to express just how grateful I am for his constancy.

* * *

><p>When Edward meets me before my appointment on a Thursday in the first week of March, he is visibly agitated. His hands have created utter chaos of his hair, leaving bronze strands pointing every which way. He taps his fingers in a staccato rhythm on the table of the café, his knee bouncing a frantic counterpoint.<p>

When I can't stand it any longer, I gently cover his hand with my own, stilling his frenetic drumming.

"Edward, hun, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he answers brusquely, and the small pang of hurt that stabs through me makes me realize it's the first time he's ever snapped at me.

I contemplate dropping it, unwilling to fight if he's in a bad mood, but I can see the sadness in his sea green eyes, so I push him.

"I don't believe you, Edward. If you don't want to talk to me, you can just say so, but don't tell me you're fine when I can see that you aren't."

His gaze snaps up to meet mine and he sighs in frustration.

"Really, Bella I'm f-"

"Don't say it Edward," I shake my finger at him in exasperation. "Your hair is a mess, which means you've been stressing about something and pulling on it for a while. You're about to tap a hole through the table, and you'll probably get an RSI in your knee if you don't stop bouncing it so damned much." I sigh.

"I know I've been a shitty friend Edward, and I know that hanging out with is sometimes more like socializing with a zombie fo, but _I know you,_ Edward. I do pay attention, you know? And I can see that you're upset and agitated. So, like I said, you can tell me to butt out, but don't fucking lie to me."

I stand up, throwing some cash on to the table and begin pulling my coat back on. I watch as Edward's expression morphs from lingering frustration, to shock at my cursing, before it softens completely as he watches me stand.

"Wait, Bella, love. I'm sorry." He buries his face in his hands and groans, before he also stands and grabs his jacket. Once we are out on the sidewalk, he takes my hand and pulls me around to face him.

"I'm sorry, love." He whispers, squeezing my hand gently. "You're right, I'm upset and I'm frustrated, and I shouldn't take it out on you."

"What's going on?" I ask softly.

"I have to go back to the UK for a while," he sighs, watching me closely.

I don't say anything, I can't. I feel like the breath has been ripped out of me. I struggle to maintain a neutral expression, chastising myself for my selfishness in wanting him near me always.

"It's just for a week, two at the most. I have some things to sort out back over there, and I need to see Katie as well."

I nod my understanding, my self-disgust at an all time high. Of course Edward should see his younger sister. I'm ashamed at the way I've taken for granted his presence in my life, the assumption that he'll always be here.

"When do you go?" I ask softly.

"Next Friday," he sighs, before he looks me directly in the eye. I register the conflict in his regard, and I reach up to cup his jaw gently. He leans into my touch, his eyes closing.

"I don't want to leave you," he whispers softly, and I'm not sure if he means for me to hear.

I take comfort in his admission, but I'm also conflicted. I don't want him to think he needs to stay here to look after me. I'm much less fragile than I was a few weeks ago, and I'm feeling stronger daily.

"It's only for a while, right?" I ask as we begin to wander towards Dr Denali's office.

"I just need to take care of a few things. I won't be gone for any longer than two weeks." He assures me.

"You were away longer than that when you were touring," I point out, and Edward offers me a crooked smile as he opens the door and ushers me inside Eleazar's office. I'm not sure whom I'm trying to reassure, Edward or myself.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, as I lie in bed, I lose myself in daydreams as I remember the feel of Edward's face against my hand. I'm suddenly very aware of the shape and colour of his full lips, the scratch of his whiskers against my palm, the strong, masculine contours of his jaw line.<p>

I'm not sure how I never noticed how physically attractive he is. I remember telling Leah that I "guessed he was good-looking". That was perhaps, one of the biggest understatements I've ever made. For so long, his sweet soul and kind heart have been the focus of the affection I have for my English friend, and, now, I've suddenly been struck by the realization that his physical attractiveness almost matches his inner beauty. I say almost, because there isn't a human being alive who could physically embody the striking beauty of Edward's heart and soul.

I pull up a clip of a performance of his on my phone, suddenly focusing in on the sexy pout of his lips as he sings "ooh ooh". How have I never noticed that before? How had I never noticed the broadness of his shoulders, the juxtaposed strength and gentleness of his hands upon the guitar strings?

In my mind's eye, I picture the way his vivid green eyes light up when he's excited, the softness of his regard when he's concerned for me. I mentally replay the warmth of his embrace, the feeling of safety and peace I find in his arms. I delight in the feeling of his firm body sheltering my own. I remember all the gentle kisses he has pressed to my forehead, and the husky rasp of his voice as he sings softly to himself whilst we walk.

I wonder what it would be like to feel those full lips pressed against my own. I wonder what his kisses would taste like? Whiskey and honey, smoke and syrup, I decide. His kisses would be like his voice: rough and smooth, silk and sin.

As I'm beginning to imagine the feel of his unshaven cheek against my own, I hear Jacob swear loudly at the television in the lounge room. My cheeks suddenly flood with colour and heat, and I gasp out loud, ashamed of my unruly thoughts.

Now that these thoughts have entered my mind, I find them hard to relegate back to obscurity. They choose the most inopportune moments to surface. Most of the thoughts are completely innocent. As I sit at the breakfast table with Jake, it's Edward's crooked smile I'm thinking of. As I drive to work, I picture Edward sitting in the passenger seat, whistling to himself as he takes in the scenery. When Jacob calls me lazy or selfish, my mind drifts to the terms of endearment Edward reserves for me; and I replace the harshness of Jacob's words with Edward's soft accent as he calls me "sweet girl", "dearest", "sweetheart", and "love".

Some of my daydreams are sensual and shocking. A few evenings later as Jacob moves over me, his sweaty body pressing down on me uncomfortably, I close my eyes and let my mind wander. Edward's face flashes before my eyes, and a spark of heat curls through my body, causing me to gasp. Shocked, my eyes snap open and the heat vanishes as quickly as it appeared as I'm confronted with the image of Jacob convulsing over me as he climaxes.

The more my mind wanders, the more guilt begins to plague me. I'm a married woman. I have no right to be thinking of Edward in this fashion. I'm wholly disgusted at the infidelity of my mind. I try to focus on the things I once found attractive in Jacob, but instead, it makes me more aware of all the things that make him "not Edward".

As hard as I try to fight my daydreams, the fantasies seem impossible to shake, and they surprise me with their sensuality. I find myself wondering what it would be like to make love to Edward, and I chastise myself as I imagine what it would be like to have his gentle hands moving across my body, his callused fingers caressing my skin. As much as it disgusts me, as much as I know it is wrong, I can't help but long to know that experience. The tenderness and gentleness and compassion Edward is capable of in friendship make me long to know him in greater intimacy.

Reality slaps me across the face, and spits on the ground at my feet. I promised to love Jacob forever. I made a solemn vow to love and honour him, forsaking all others. I will never know Edward that way. I tell myself to put it out of my mind before the thought destroys me. There is no use in longing for what I can never have.

* * *

><p>A week after Edward leaves for London, Saturday finds me sitting on the lounge, laptop in front of me, and headphones on my ears. I'm catching up on all the YouTubing and blog reading I've missed due to the comatose-like state I've been in for months. Jacob is sprawled in front of the television, beer in hand, when he suddenly jumps to his feet and stalks out of the room. I pay him no mind, and continue clicking through the various music and sewing blogs I like to frequent.<p>

I can hear Jacob vaguely over the headphones, and I hear him laugh as he re-enters the lounge room. Startled, I look up, and realize there's a statuesque blonde standing in the doorway, smirking at me.

"Rosalie! What are you doing here?" I exclaim, as I try to wrestle my way out of the tangled cords of my headphones and computer.

"Just thought I drop by, you know, I was in the area," she laughs, and I snort with amusement.

"I wanted to see if you wanted to have lunch with me lass, and I didn't have your number, but my driver did know your address."

"Yes, that'd be great, Rose." I grin, bouncing off the couch and into her arms.

"It's so good to see you!" we exclaim in unison, before we collapse into a fit of giggles. Still clutching at each other and laughing, we make our way out of the house.

Lunch with Rose is fun. We laugh and chatter, as we catch up on each other's news. She's easy to talk to, though when she gets too worked up it's a struggle for me to understand her thick accent. Sitting in Forks' tiny dinner, it's impossible to believe I'm having lunch with the wife of a Hollywood star, a woman who herself makes headlines on a daily basis.

When she drops me home three hours later, we're still laughing, and she hugs me goodbye, promising me that we'll catch up again soon.

Jacob is still sitting where I left him earlier in the day. When he sees me, he clicks off the television and indicates I should take a seat. I study his face, trying to get a read on his emotions, but he has an impassive mask firmly in place.

"Did you enjoy your lunch, Isabella?"

"Yeah, I did. Rosalie's lovely. We had fun."

"How nice." Jacob sneers, his dark eyes suddenly snapping with fury.

"I can't believe you, Izzy. She turns up here and you go waltzing out the door without so much as a backward glance. Did you for a second stop to think of anyone but yourself? Did you check if I minded you disappearing for three hours? What if I'd had plans for us, Isabella?"

"You were watching television, Jacob. You'd hardly been aware of my presence all morning."

Jacob scoffs at my response, pointing his finger at me.

"You make friends with some fucking foreigner, and all of a sudden you think you're so much better than everyone else, huh, Iz?"

"No, of co-" Jacob cuts me off with a hand gesture.

"I don't know what shit you spun to get those guys to all think you're so fucking wonderful, _Bella_. But you have to know it's all shit. They'll get sick of you Izzy. You're nothing special, their interest in you won't last. Especially once they realize what you're really like," he smirks, then suddenly laughs out loud as kneels down in front of me.

"Tell me, Iz, are you still having your head shrunk? Still seeing a quack so you can drag your fat ass out of bed each morning?" his voice is quiet, but menacing.

"Yes." I whisper, shame filling me as I stare at my feet.

"And does blondie know that? Does she know you're psychotic, Isabella? Does she know about how weak you are? How _unstable_ you are, Izzy?" he continues to whisper, tracing a finger down my arm.

"No." I whisper, shuddering at his touch.

"Too ashamed to tell your new friends, Izzy? You should be. You're pathetic, Isabella."

"I know," I sob.

Jacob looks down at me, smirking.

"Good," he sneers. "Don't forget it either, you stupid girl."

* * *

><p>Jacob's spiteful words are still ringing in my head when I arrive at my next appointment with Dr Denali. I'm all over the place, struggling to focus on what we're discussing, and I begin to wonder if there's even any point continuing these sessions. I'm pathetic and hopeless; I'll always be pathetic and hopeless. Why not just accept it and stop wasting Eleazar's time?<p>

"Bella? Bella?" Eleazar's voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

"I'm sorry," I mutter.

He contemplates me seriously for a little while, before he puts is pen and notepad down. I look for the disgust and resignation in his eyes, prepared to hear him tell me that I'm wasting his time, that I might as well just give up coming. I'm surprised when I don't see it. Instead of contempt in his dark gaze, I see concern and empathy.

"What's going on in your mind, Isabella?" he asks softly.

It suddenly seems impossible to keep my fears inside. They pour forth in a torrent as I tell him how pathetic and useless and lazy and disgusting I am. I tell him how hopeless and helpless I feel, how ashamed I am of my traitorous mind. Words become sobs and I cry desperately, riddled with guilt and despair.

"Isabella," Eleazar starts softly, "I want to tell you how I see you, okay?" He doesn't wait for my answer before he continues.

"I see a young woman who loves her family and friends fiercely, who is kind and compassionate. I see a young woman who bears a burden she shouldn't have to at such a young age. Depression is an awful weight to carry, Bella, and not once have you questioned the unfairness of what you deal with daily. Instead, you believe you deserve it. Trust me when I tell you that you don't. I see enormous strength in you Bella. Coming here to me, seeking help, that's not weakness, Isabella, that's strength. Enduring what you have for as long as you have, that's strength, Bella. Still having the capacity to love those around you so deeply, that too, is strength, Bella."

Dr Denali waits until I look up at him before he continues.

"You are not weak, or hopeless, Bella. I don't believe that, and I know your friend Edward doesn't believe that, or he wouldn't sit outside my door several times a week waiting for you. From what you've told me, neither your father nor your friend, Alice, believe you to be weak or hopeless. So, what makes you continue to believe that you are those things?"

I look at my hands as I answer.

"Because Jacob says I am." I whisper.

"Do you mind if we talk about Jacob for a while?" Dr Denali asks gently.

I shrug.

"You mentioned early on in our sessions that you turned Jacob down the first time he proposed to you? Why was that?"

I sigh, absently twisting my hair around a finger as I think about it.

"Mostly, I wanted to finish college first, and I thought we were just too young. When he proposed the first time, we were nineteen, and we'd only been dating for a few months. I just couldn't imagine being married whilst I was a teenager. I mean … I know some people get married at eighteen and they're really happy for the rest of their lives, but I don't know … I just wasn't ready."

"Is that the only reason, Bella?"

"I guess not. Uh, Jacob's the only guy I've dated, and the only person I've slept with. And I just wasn't certain he was 'the one' for me. I wanted to wait until I was certain, I didn't want to regret marrying him before I got a chance to spread my wings. I had so many things I wanted to achieve, and I wasn't ready to settle down."

"And did you get that chance?"

I laugh bitterly in response.

"No. Uh, in my final year of college Jacob gave me an ultimatum. Marry him as soon as I finished college or break up with him."

"You didn't think that was an unreasonable ultimatum?"

"Of course I did. Uh, the day he proposed was just the worst. I'd just been told I was in danger of failing one of my courses. I've never failed anything, you know? So I was flipping out. And I was living in Seattle but driving back to Forks for the weekend to see Jacob, and I was really struggling to keep on top of everything. And so I told Jacob I wasn't going to come back to Forks every weekend any more. The last thing I wanted was to fail a course and fail to graduate when I was close to being done. So he convinced me to meet him for dinner and he told me that it didn't matter if I failed out, because I could just move back home with him and we could have a family. And I was so frustrated, because whilst I do want to have children one day, I just wasn't ready, and I'm still not ready, really. I just wanted him to be a bit more understanding, and let me take the time I needed to just finish my degree." I sigh before I continue.

"So we're out at dinner and I'm getting frustrated and Jacob's asking me if I won't marry him because I'm too much like my Mom and I can't follow through with anything, and he tells me I'll end up left on the shelf because I can't commit to anything or anyone. Normally I'd just tell him to get lost, but I was having such a terrible day and I was really feeling insecure about everything, you know? So Jacob tells me I have to make a choice, marry him or end up alone, because no one else would ever want me. And then he gets up and makes this huge show of getting down on one knee and pulling out a ring, and everybody in the restaurant is looking and cheering, and I couldn't embarrass him by turning him down in front of all those people, so I said yes and then I just couldn't back out." Even as I speak I realize how pathetic and weak that sounds; in hindsight I can see Jacob's manipulation so clearly.

"That sounds so lame, I know. I just didn't want to hurt him, and he rang all our family straight away, and Dad and Billy were so excited, and even Mom was really happy for us, and then it was just too hard to do anything but go along with it. I figured that I did love him after all, so I could make it work. And at first it was okay, but then, I don't know …"

"Are you happy in your relationship with Jacob, Bella?"

I look at my hands, terrified to answer.

"No." I eventually whisper.

"Does Jacob make you happy, Bella?"

"No." I whisper again.

"Does Jacob love you, Bella?"

My eyes snap up and I look at the calm expression on Dr Denali's face.

"I don't know."

Eleazar picks up a piece of paper from his desk, and tears a few inches off it before he hands it to me.

"Have a look at these, Bella. Do any of these things sound at all like your relationship with Jacob?"

I look down at the list warily.

_Do you have to get permission to socialize with your friends?  
><em>_Are you accused of cheating on him when you leave the house to do errands, etc.?  
><em>_Are you afraid to talk about certain topics unless he's in a good mood?  
><em>_Does he have control over the money and monitor your spending?  
><em>_Does he tell you no one else would ever want you?  
><em>_Does he threaten to harm himself if you leave him?  
><em>_Does he go through your purse or open your mail?  
><em>_Does he make disparaging remarks about the way you look or dress?  
><em>_Does he use things against you that you've confided to him in the past?  
><em>_Does he sabotage your efforts to be involved in pleasant social or family events?  
><em>_Does he compare you negatively to other women?  
><em>_Are you nervous about being on the phone when he is around?  
><em>_Is it okay to return home later than scheduled without being fearful?  
><em>_Does it feel more like you have a dad than a partner?  
><em>_Does he give you the 'silent treatment' when you want to talk or work things out?  
><em>_Does he try to turn the children against you?  
><em>_Do you feel manipulated by his kindness or gifts?  
><em>_Do you feel obligated to be sexual with your partner?  
><em>_Are your activities and interests looked upon as unimportant and trivial?  
><em>_Does he sabotage your schedule and outside commitments? _***

"Would you answer yes to any of those questions, Bella?"

"Some of them." I mumble, shifting anxiously in my chair.

"How many would you say? Just one of two? A few? Half of them? Most? All of them?"

"Maybe around half of them," I mutter, my discomfort increasing.

Eleazar slowly hands me the other part of the page, the piece he ripped off before giving me this checklist. It's clearly the top of the page. My hands start to shake as I look down at the title of the checklist.

**_Are you being emotionally abused?_**

"No. No. NO. I'm not being abused. Jacob isn't abusive. How dare you suggest that? Sure he can be a jerk, but he's not abusive. He doesn't hit me. Well he did once, last week, but that was just because I was hysterical and I needed to calm down. He's a good person, really. And anyway, I deserve it, he's just pointing out how much I fail because he wants me to be a better person. No. No." I shake my head frantically, my whole body trembling.

Eleazar waits calmly for me to finish rambling and shaking my head.

"Abuse is a scary word, Bella, but being hit isn't the only way men abuse their wives."

I continue to frantically shake me head, fear clutching at my insides and threatening to choke me.

"No. It's not … He can't … No."

"Bella, I'm not asking you to do anything other than think about this, okay? I'm not asking you to make any decisions, alright? I just want you to contemplate these questions for a little while. I want you to reflect on whether you think the relationship you and Jacob have is healthy. Whether it's the kind of relationship, for example, that you'd happily see your daughter in?"

I know I blanche as soon as he says this, but he remains impassive.

"Over the next week, until I see you again, Bella, I want you to think about what kind of relationship you'd like to have with Jacob? What kind of relationship you think you deserve? Whether the relationship you're currently in is one that affirms and builds you up as a person? Is there mutual respect and trust? Do you feel safe and secure and loved?"

I nod mutely, as I stand to leave.

Driving home, I have to pull over when the tears begin to obscure my vision. I already know the answers to Eleazar's questions; I'm just too frightened to admit them.

* * *

><p><strong>So, thoughts? Bella's made some progress, right?<strong>

***** I borrowed this checklist from turningpointservices(dot)org**

**I am not qualified in psychology or psychiatry. If you have questions about your own situation, please, please seek out professional support.**


	16. March May 2011

**Chapter 13: March - May 2011**

**A/N: I still don't own anything but the story line. **

**So, Bella had some thinking to do last chapter. Let's see if she's come to any conclusions.**

**Please be aware, things get really quite nasty in this chapter. There is no excuse, EVER, for any form of abuse. It is never your fault, and it is never acceptable.**

**I'm dedicating this chapter to my fellow Aussie, Demons4eva, just because she's made my week so lovely with her support :)**

* * *

><p>The last week of March is one of the most awful weeks of my life, despite the medication. If I ever worried that the antidepressants would rob me of my ability to feel, this week proves my concerns were unfounded.<p>

Instead, I ride a rollercoaster of emotions, none of them pleasant, as Dr Denali's questions bounce around my troubled mind. What I teach my classes, or how I get through each day, I have no idea. And yet, somehow I manage to function sufficiently, despite the fact that my mind is often completely preoccupied by my relationship with Jacob.

"_Over the next week, until I see you again, Bella, I want you to think about what kind of relationship you'd like to have with Jacob? What kind of relationship you think you deserve? Whether the relationship you're currently in is one that affirms and builds you up as a person? Is there mutual respect and trust? Do you feel safe and secure and loved?"_

What kind of relationship would I like to have with Jacob? How about one in which he actually makes me feel loved and cherished and cared for? I long for his affection and warmth, but all he offers me is contempt and derision. But do I actually deserve anything more? Do the unlovely deserve to be loved? Maybe Jacob simply offers me what I truly deserve. Maybe he offers me his contempt because I _am_ contemptible, his disgust because I _am_ disgusting.

It seems as though I am utterly incapable of pleasing him, and I begin to wonder why he even married me when he thinks so lowly of me? I know that he often remarks that no one else would have me, but I wonder what caused him to stoop so low as to bind himself to me? As he is very aware, he's incredibly attractive, and he can be charming when he wishes to: so why was he so determined to marry me, and at such a young age?

Does my marriage demonstrate mutual respect and trust? Definitely not. Jacob clearly has no respect for me, and again, perhaps I am unworthy of his respect. Two months ago I would have sworn blind that I trusted Jacob, but now? I'm not so sure. Obviously, I don't trust him sufficiently to confide my antidepressant use. I don't trust him to support me unconditionally, to love me unconditionally.

Do I feel affirmed as a person? Of course not. What is there for Jacob to affirm, after all? He has such a low opinion of my appearance, my abilities, and my character. My friendship with Edward provides me with far greater affirmation – I cut the thought off, aware of the danger in following that line of thought. Even thinking of Edward is painful today. He's been gone for close to three weeks now; and he apologizes profusely for the delay in his return. We speak every few days, but it's almost physically painful to go so long without the warmth of his smile and his easy affection.

I push the thoughts of Edward aside, trying to focus on Jacob. What else did Dr Denali ask me to consider?

"_I want you to reflect on whether you think the relationship you and Jacob have is healthy. Whether it's the kind of relationship, for example, that you'd happily see your daughter in?"_

Healthy? Probably not, but then, am I healthy? I'm mentally ill, right? How could I have a healthy relationship? I think about Alice and Jasper, or Rosalie and Emmett's relationships; they look very different to Jacob's and mine. I think about the calmness Jasper radiates as he watches Alice buzz around energetically. Or the cheeky glances and gentle touches Rose and Em exchange, as though oblivious to those around them.

Presumably Jacob has had some of his issues handed down to him from Billy; he's been taught women are whores that need to be 'controlled.' Have I ever given him reason to believe I'm unfaithful? Do I need to pay for his mother's sins? Surely, given his upbringing, it's somewhat understandable, but is it excusable? I'm not so sure.

I can't put off the question I'm trying to ignore any longer. Would I be happy if my daughter married a man like Jacob? I can excuse and forgive the way Jacob treats me, but could I see my daughter treated in this fashion?

Absolutely fucking not.

And there it is. Do I deserve less than what I'd desire for my daughter? What would Renee and Charlie have imagined for me when I was a little girl?

I want any daughter of mine to be treasured, to be loved, to know that the man she loves will love her unconditionally, and unceasingly. I'm not unrealistic; every couple fights and has to compromise. But she should never have to compromise her personhood, her dignity, for a man. These are the things I fear I'm losing to Jacob, every time he undermines me, manipulates me, humiliates me, or coerces me into physical intimacy.

I'm not perfect. I have my faults and my foibles, I do things that are irritating and annoying, and I've made my share of mistakes. But the question is: am I worthless? Am I truly worth _less_ than any other person?

As my mind continues to churn, waves of nausea and nerves continue to wash over me. I've never felt as unsettled and uncertain as I do right now. My heart seems to thump erratically, and an ache in my chest begins to develop. My hands shake and my mouth is suddenly dry. Panic begins to grip me.

Confronted with the truth, that the manner in which Jacob treats me is totally unacceptable; I suddenly realize there is a bigger question.

What do I do about it?

* * *

><p>Despite my continual self-chastisement, my mind strays frequently to Edward. I wonder when he'll return, and am suddenly cut to the heart when it occurs to me that maybe he'll enjoy being back in London so much that he'll decide to stay there long-term. It is his home after all, and I'm sure he finds it hard to be away from his family, and especially his sister.<p>

The thought of not regularly seeing his crooked smile, the sparkle in his green eyes, nor hearing his soft-spoken terms of endearment is torturous. I've never made a friend so easily, never connected on such a deep and spiritual level with a person before, and even the few weeks he's been away cause a profound sense of loneliness to settle over me.

My mind twists the image of Edward, causing me to imagine his lips seeking out my own, rather than my forehead as is his custom. I'm overwhelmed by the desire to know what he tastes like, to know what his skin feels like under my hands, what it would feel like to run my hands through his hair, to feel the scruff that shades his jaw scraping roughly against my own skin. I want to know what it would be like to feel the heat and weight of his body moving over mine. More than that, I want to know what it feels like to be _desired_ by Edward.

Sex and physical intimacy with Jacob have never been about his desire for _me_; just about him seeking out his own physical gratification and release. To Jacob I am merely a tool, a means to an end. Even when we first started exploring physical intimacy, it was always at his pace, always about what he wanted, and frequently, just so he could maintain bragging rights with his friends. Jacob has never been affectionate; I don't know that we'd even kissed many times before he simply thrust my hand down his pants and started barking instructions.

In contrast, I think of the affection and warmth Edward bestows on me liberally, and as my mind extrapolates, my body is set aflame at the mere thought of what it would be like to know Edward intimately, physically, sexually. I'm utterly shocked by the force of my own desire, and as much as I tell myself that even thinking about Edward in such a way is disgraceful and traitorous, I can do little to fight the flames that have been kindled within me.

Edward haunts my dreams, with become increasingly erotic, and it's not unusual for me to wake, shaking and throbbing, my body completely unable to deal with the emotions and desires coursing through me. I've never known sexual gratification or release, and I don't know how to release the pressure that is growing within.

The burning desire wars with the part of me that seeks to throw iced water over my daydreams, the logical part of my mind that knows nothing good can come of these longings, that knows my emotions are becoming dangerously unfaithful. That logical part suddenly begins to whisper that maybe I am capable of becoming the cheating whore that Billy would have Jake believe I am. The utter revulsion I feel at the very thought causes me to attempt to discipline my mind, determined I will not prove Billy right. Though I would never act on my daydreams, I'm desperate to curtail them, unwilling to be unfaithful to my marriage vows even from inside my mind.

It's the dreams and fantasies spun by my unconscious mind when it relaxes in sleep that are much harder to escape.

* * *

><p>I arrive early for Monday afternoon appointment in Port Angeles. It's the first week of April and Spring is taking hold. The sun shines for a few days, and the dull and heavy grey-green of winter is being renewed. Lush, verdant growth lines the Olympic Highway and rainbow splashes of wildflowers catch my eye as I head into the port.<p>

Despite the indecision and confusion weighing heavily on me, I feel lighter this afternoon. I decide to have my coffee alfresco, sliding into one of the outdoor tables of my usual haunt. I'm sipping a Kenyan micro-lot when I notice a familiar plaid-shirted frame walking up the sidewalk in my direction. My heart thumps wildly in my chest, the ever-present ache dulling as soon as Edward looks up and our gazes lock. His lips quirk into his crooked smile, and joyful laughter bubbles out of me. I place some cash on the table and grab my bag. And then, paying the other patrons no mind, I'm on my feet and running, unable to wait a second longer.

Tears are already leaking from the corners of my eyes when I hurl myself in to Edward's arms. Laughing, Edward wraps his arms around me, pulling me close, pressing his lips softly to my forehead. The gesture, one he has made dozens of times, causes a tiny flutter in my stomach, which I quickly quash, and I close my eyes as I breathe him in. His strong arms are a safe haven, within his embrace I feel protected and secure … and loved. The thought causes more tears to flow, and I bury myself deeper into his chest.

"I missed you," I manage to say, finally looking up at him. My smiling face is streaked with tears, and Edward smiles back gently as he wipes the wetness from my cheeks with his fingertips.

"I missed you too, sweet girl. I'm sorry I was away longer than I planned."

I shrug as he releases me from his embrace.

"You're here now." I murmur. That is all that matters.

"I've got something to tell you, Bella."

I look up at Edward, startled and concerned by his words, but his green eyes are dancing, and a slight smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

"I'm moving stateside."

I look at him, stunned, before I throw my arms around him again, laughing in delight.

"When? Permanently? Where will you live?" The questions spill from my lips, and I'm giddy with relief.

The prospect of Edward being back in London permanently has weighed heavily on me, particularly with his protracted absence. I couldn't help but wonder if being back at home would make him realize he's happier there. I couldn't help but think that being away from me and the misery and despair that cloud my life might have been a relief for him. I have been plagued by the thought that he might have decided my friendship was too much of a burden, one that wasn't worth the effort.

Edward doesn't release me as he grins down at me.

"As permanently as possible, though I'll still do a lot of touring, obviously. I'm going to base myself in Seattle for now. I, uh, I got signed by this great indie label, and just sorting everything out is what kept me in the UK for the extra week or so." He runs his hand though his hair, as he looks down at me thoughtfully.

"I have a few shows lined up in LA, San Francisco, and San Diego over the next month or so. Then, in June, I'm doing another quick tour across the country, before I head to London to record in September." He sighs, his hand rubbing his jaw as he continues.

"After I finish recording; they've lined up a full-on, round the world, Europe, America, Asia, Australia, on the road for more than five months, type of tour ..."

" I'm so excited for you, Edward!" My pride in him bursts from me.

"Yeah?" he asks, his expression half-hopeful.

"Of course, hun! I mean, of course I'll miss you whilst you're touring, but that's what you do! You make music and you share it with people! And how exciting that you'll be taking your music and your talent to all those places! That's huge, Edward! I'm so proud of you!"

Edward beams down at me, and I realize then exactly how much this new contract must mean for him, career-wise.

My hands tentatively cup his jaw as I look up into his jade-green eyes.

"I'm so very proud of you." I whisper, suddenly remembering the awe I have for Edward's talent, the sheer joy I was able to find in his music.

Edward's eyes widen as he takes in the sincerity and fervency of my declaration, and his joyful smile is dazzling.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he whispers back, covering one of my hands with his own.

A blaring car horn causes us to jump, destroying the intimacy of the moment, and we both giggle a little, looking at the ground.

"Come on, dearest, you've got an appointment, yeah?"

I nod, as we feeling the excitement and joy drain out of me.

"Everything going okay, love?" Edward asks, watching me closely.

"Not really," I mumble, as I follow him into Dr Denali's office, my heart heavy.

"I'll wait for you," he promises.

* * *

><p>I find it difficult to sit still once I'm seated on the couch in Dr Denali's office. My knees are shaking with nerves, and I twist my long hair between my fingers as Eleazar sits across from me, his notepad on his knee. He looks at me expectantly, and I realize I must have missed whatever he asked.<p>

"I'm sorry, what did you ask me?"

"I asked if you thought any more about your relationship with Jacob?"

I nod, but don't answer.

"Bella?"

"What do you want me to say?" I grumble, feeling irritated by the situation.

"You know it's not a healthy relationship, or you wouldn't have pulled that stunt with the fact sheet. Obviously, I'm not happy or I wouldn't be here talking to you twice a week. Do I feel loved? No, not a jot, alright? Do I feel safe and affirmed? Absolutely not. Respected? Not in the slightest. Is it the kind of relationship I'd want for my daughter. Fuck no. Happy?" I fold my arms across my chest defensively, my anger building as I contemplate my situation.

"Why would that make me happy, Bella?"

"Because you're right, okay. You were right. Jacob is abusive. He's controlling and he's nasty and spiteful and he constantly makes me feel like absolute rubbish … where's that sheet?" I jump up to rifle through my bag looking for the factsheet Eleazar gave me last session.

Wordlessly, he hands me another copy. I look at it as I begin to pace around the room.

"Do I need his permission to go out? Apparently, given the tantrum he chucked when I had lunch with Rosalie. He doesn't accuse me of cheating because he's too busy telling me no one else could possibly want me, but I'm sure his Dad would have something to say about it. Am I afraid of bringing up certain things with him? Yep … He can't control my money because we never got around to merging our accounts ... Let's see, does he tell me no one else would want me? Every day ... Of course he wouldn't harm himself, that's just ridiculous; I'm not worth the effort … I'm not aware he's every gone through my things, though he wouldn't find anything anyway ... Disparaging remarks? Almost constantly …." I trail off, my eyes filling with tears of anger and frustration.

"Should I continue?"

"It might be helpful, Bella."

I nod, before I look back down at the paper in my hand.

"Does he use things against me? Well, there was the ffffffrigid incident, how could I forget that?" I laugh bitterly.

"Sabotaging social and family events? Well, yeah, as well as every phone call I ever receive from my mom. Does he make negative comparisons about me? He never stops."

I skip over a few on the list, weary of thinking about them.

"Yes, he uses kindness to manipulate me, though it's taken this to make me realize it. Yes, I feel obligated to be sexual with him, and I hate, hate, hate it! Okay. Yes. Yes, to nearly every question on this fucking list. So, is my husband emotionally abusing me? YES." Angry tears sting my eyes, and I can't fight them. They spill over my cheeks, hot and furious. I collapse back into the couch, clutching my head to my hands.

"I can understand this is upsetting you, but you also sound angry, Bella? Would that be fair to say?"

"Of course I'm angry!" I snap. "Wouldn't you be? I'm married to a selfish, narcissistic pig of a man who treats me like absolute dirt. He belittles and demeans me, humiliates me, and routinely coerces me into letting him fuck me. I think it's pretty bloody understandable that I'm angry."

"You weren't angry last week, though. What's changed, Isabella?"

"Last week I thought I deserved it. All of it. Because Jacob has twisted and abused my opinion of myself and made me think I'm worthless and unlovable. That the way he behaved towards me was my fault. But, you know, that sweet man sitting outside your door right now treated me with more kindness the day he met me, than Jacob does after almost two years of marriage. And it's not fair." I shout, feeling childish but unable to contain the words.

"It's not fair." I say again, rebelling against the small voice in my head that tells me that it is fair, that I'm only getting what I deserve.

"No, Bella, it's not fair. You are no less worthy of respect and love than anyone else."

"I know. Now."

"So the question is, Bella, what happens now? Armed with this information, what are you going to do?"

Eleazar's question slaps me back to reality and the fight drains from me. Suddenly, I'm exhausted and overwhelmed and the possibility of my life ever being any different seems non-existent.

"I don't know." I mutter, my eyes again on my feet.

"Let's think about it, Bella? What are your options?"

"I have options?" I laugh, but there is nothing amusing about the situation.

"Of course you do, Bella. There are always options. For instance, you have the option of choosing to ignore everything we've discussed today and continue to allow Jacob to abuse you."

"No."

"I agree, Bella, I don't think that is a wise option. So, why don't you take some time to contemplate your options? What is it that you want to see happen? And what options do you have to make that happen?"

* * *

><p>As soon as I open Eleazar's door, Edward is on his feet, his eyes filled with concern. He takes one look at my tear-stained face and opens his arms to me. I allow him to pull me into his embrace, and the feeling of shelter I know I will find there. His wordless compassion is such a contrast to the abuse I'm used to, and more and more tears begin to fall. I sob into Edward's chest, my heart aching, my stomach clenching, and my head pounding. He says nothing, but holds me close and strokes my hair as I cry myself out. Several times I try to speak, to tell him that I'm sorry, that it's not fair, that I can't do it any more, but I can't stop crying enough in order to make myself be understood.<p>

Eventually, I'm simply too exhausted to cry any more, and I sag against Edward, unable to support my own weight. He gently helps me to a seat and I realize we haven't left the waiting room. Carmen brings me a cup of water, and I thank her, embarrassed. She gently squeezes my shoulder, before she moves away and locks the front door.

"Take your time, there are no more appointments this evening. I'll just be in here." She smiles at Edward, and points at Eleazar's office. She closes the door behind herself, thoughtfully giving Edward and I some privacy.

Edward kneels in front of me, and gently brushes the hair out of my face as I take a few sips of water.

"I'm so sorry, Edward." I manage to say, my voice rasping from the strain of crying.

"You don't need to say sorry, love. I'm here for you, always."

I nod my thanks, taking a few more sips of water.

"I'm not going to ask if you're okay, sweetheart, because you're obviously not, yeah? But can I do anything for you? Do you need anything?"

I shake my head, closing my eyes in exhaustion.

Edward gently cups my face, and my eyes snap open as I look up at him.

"Do you want to tell me what's going on, dearest?"

I see the concern and sympathy in his eyes, and I nod, desperately wanting to rid myself of the burden I've been carrying all week. I take another sip of water before I clear my throat.

"Jacob is emotionally abusive." The words seem to hang in the air between us, as Edward stiffens and a look of pure, unadulterated rage flashes across his features. I grab his hand to anchor myself as I begin to talk.

I fill him in on the things that have been happening; the conversation between Jacob and Billy that I overheard, and my subsequent conversation with my dad; I tell him about Rosalie's visit and Jacob's reaction; the conversations I've had with Dr Denali, and the factsheet on emotional abuse. I tell him about the things I've been thinking about this week; the realization that nobody deserves to be abused, the absolute horror I feel at any daughter of mine be treated by a man the way Jacob treats me. I don't cry this time; my body has been drained of all its tears. It's, therefore, a shock when I look up into Edward's face to see his eyes are filled with tears. He is still kneeling before me, and I reach out to touch his cheek.

"Are you okay?" I ask, concerned.

Edward shakes his head, and a noise that's half-sob, half-laugh escapes his lips as he struggles to get control over himself.

"You're amazing Bella. I don't know how you've survived his abuse for as long as you have, and yet maintained your kindness and compassion. After telling me about the hell you've been living through, you're concerned for me? Sweetheart, I … I-" Edward breaks off, shaking his head. He takes a deep breath and continues.

"It's taking a lot of effort for me not to drive to Forks right now and beat that bastard to a pulp, yeah? No one has the right to treat another person the way he treats you, love. You know that, right? You don't deserve it. Abuse is never deserved, and it's never your fault."

"I know," I whisper, "now."

"What can I do, dearest? What can I do to help you? What do you need?"

"I don't know." I whisper. "But I don't want to go home tonight."

Edward nods, pulling out his phone. He presses a few buttons before he holds it up to his ear.

"Rosie? I need a favour."

* * *

><p>I spend the night in Emmett's spare bedroom, wearing pyjamas I've borrowed from Rosalie. Edward sleeps on the couch in their living room, despite my protests that I'm the one imposing and he ought have the bed he's been sleeping in for weeks.<p>

In the morning, I tell them I need to go home. Edward immediately protests, but I assure him that I'll be fine; Jacob is away in Portland for two weeks on another job. Rose, Emmett and Edward hug me before tucking me into a cab. I'm grateful that they understand my need to make some decisions alone, and they offer me their support wordlessly.

* * *

><p>Jacob ends up staying in Portland for three weeks, declaring he can't be bothered coming home for the weekend. While he is away, I vacillate wildly in my decision-making. Some days I decide to leave him, convinced that he doesn't deserve a chance to change. Other days I convince myself that if he just saw his own behaviour clearly, that he'd want to change. Surely everyone deserves a second chance?<p>

Edward, Rose and Alice all call me every few days to see how I'm going, though Alice still doesn't know the full details of the things that I'm dealing with. Edward and Rose don't offer me advice, but they continually remind me of their love and concern.

When Jacob returns, life simply resumes as before, and I find myself easily slipping back into the same patterns of thinking and behaviour. I grow frustrated with myself; I have moments of clarity in which I decide that things have to change, but then Jacob will say or do something, and my confidence and resoluteness disappear from underneath me.

* * *

><p>May takes me by surprise. Time keeps marching forward whilst I equivocate.<p>

* * *

><p>Thursday May 19th, 2011. A date I will not easily forget.<p>

I'm having a good day.

I drive home from school; smiling as I play the CD Edward gave me for Christmas.

I'm surprised to see Jacob's pickup in the drive.

Warily, I unlock the front door and make my way into the kitchen.

The sight I'm greeted with causes the blood to drain from my face, and panic to grip my chest.

Jacob is sitting at the kitchen table; in front of him is the factsheet on emotional abuse Eleazar gave to me, and my vial of antidepressants has been emptied on to the table, the little white pills strewn across it's surface.

Jacob takes in the sheer terror in my expression, and he smirks at me.

"This sheet is really quite informative, Izzy. Where, exactly, did you come across it?"

Trembling, I place my purse on the table, before I turn to look Jacob in the eye.

"Where did you get that?"

"I think the question, Izzy," he spits, "is where did you get these?"

I ignore Jacob's question for the moment, because I know the sheet and the pills were buried in the bottom of my underwear drawer this morning.

"I know exactly where I left those Jacob, why have you been going through my things?" I'm determined not to be intimidated: I have done nothing wrong. I repeat this over and over in my mind. I have done nothing wrong.

"This is my house, Isabella. I will look where I want, whenever I want. I do not need your permission to do so."

"Bullshit, Jacob. I'm entitled to privacy when I want it. I may be your wife, but you do not own me."

Jacob just laughs darkly at my response.

"So, Isabella, how long have you been taking these pills for? I did a little googling, _wife_. Sertraline. Used to treat depression, obsessive-compulsive disorders, panic attacks and social anxiety disorders. So, _wife_, which category of freaks do you fall into?"

"I have depression, Jacob. I've told you that. You may have chosen to ignore me, but I chose to get help and do something about it."

Jacob snorts, but doesn't comment. Instead, he changes the subject.

"I'm far more interested in where you came across this, _wife_. And exactly why it is that you happen to believe I'm abusing you."

"My psychiatrist gave it to me."

"Did he just? And what little bullshit sob story did you spin him, Isabella?"

I take a deep breath, steeling myself to speak the words I should have spoken months ago. I will not falter any longer.

"I spoke nothing but the truth, Jacob. I've had enough. I cannot, I will not continue to allow you to treat me the way you do. You are disrespectful and degrading. You treat me like your personal slave. I am not. I do not exist purely for your comfort, to fulfill your every whim. Either you change Jacob, or I walk."

I expect Jacob's fury, but instead am shocked by his laughter. He chuckles and shakes his head, banging his hand on his knee.

"Oh, Izzy, you're hilarious. You're gonna walk away from me? Really? Just like your slut of a mother, huh?"

"My mother was not a slut, Jacob. I heard Billy speaking about Renee at Christmas time, and I spoke to Charlie. He set a few things straight, so I will not be controlled by those taunts any longer."

"You heard?" Jacob looks slightly surprised and I can see the moment realization clicks into place in his brain.

"So I suppose that explains why you're not pregnant then, you conniving little bitch."

I nod, and look him directly in the eye.

"I went and got an implant, Jacob. How dare you think you could trick me into having a baby? How could you think you could use a _child_ to control me?"

Fury sparks in Jacob's dark eyes when he sees the extent of my defiance. The disgust and derision in his gaze cement some things into place for me. I grasp hold of some strength I would never have believed I possess, praying for courage to do what I know I must.

"You know what, Jacob? I'm out. I was going to give you a chance to change, a chance to prove you're actually a better man than this. But the contempt in your eyes tells me that you don't love me, and I doubt you ever have. So, that's it, I'm done. I deserve better than this."

I do deserve better than this. I cling to that truth as Jacob draws himself up to his full height and takes a few steps closer to me. I hold his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. It's a little hard; he's over a foot taller than me, and probably a hundred pounds heavier.

"I don't think so, Isabella. You are my wife, and you WILL NOT humiliate me by walking out on me. I WILL NOT ALLOW IT," he bellows, spittle flying from is mouth.

"Watch me."

I pick up my bag and grab my keys before Jacob grabs a hold of me and slams me into the wall. Pain shoots across the back of my head as it crashes into the drywall. I scream in pain as Jacob grabs me by my hair and drags me across the kitchen toward the table. He grabs a handful of pills and forcefully shoves them into my mouth, gripping my jaw painfully.

"You're so miserable, Isabella. You have it so tough, don't you? Poor Isabella. Come on, you little bitch, swallow your happy pills. You're a freak and a whore, Isabella. You want out? I don't think so. You will not embarrass me like that."

As Jacob continues to rant and rave; I try desperately not to choke on the bitter pills. I don't know how many pills he's forced into my mouth, and I don't know how many pills could cause me to overdose. I'm truly frightened for my life in this moment, but I'm trying desperately not to panic. He continues to shout and rage at me, his words mostly unintelligible as I try to wrestle out of his viselike grasp. I resist the urge to swallow to clear my mouth and I start to gag. Jacob releases my jaw briefly and I take the opportunity to spit the pills back in his face.

This stuns him sufficiently that he releases his grip on me, and I kick at him desperately. My flailing knee makes contact with his groin and he doubles over in pain, groaning and swearing. I'm surprised at the sick sense of satisfaction I feel at landing that blow, but I don't let it distract me. I scramble again for my bag and keys, throwing myself out the front door and down the drive.

I make for my SUV, frantically clicking the button to unlock it. As soon as I clamber in and slam my door closed, I hit the locks and start the engine. Jacob reaches the end of the drive just as I pull away from the house, his face a mask of fury as he watches me drive away.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay. That was hard. Review for me, please?<strong>


	17. May 2011

**Chapter 14: May 2011**

**A/N: Wow! Thank you all so very much for all the Bella-love, dearest readers. I'm so overwhelmed by the support you have all shown her! Many of you were concerned she wouldn't leave Jacob before he was killed, so I hope last chapter has set you at ease on that front. Though it's taken her a while to find it, she does have a lot of strength!**

**I also freely admit that though I've done some research into the legal system in Washington, it's definitely not been extensive, so please, bear with me if things aren't quite right.**

**I own the storyline and nothing else. And I didn't wake up to my very own British troubadour on my birthday, which was a little disappointing ;)**

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><p>As soon as I turn the corner, and Jacob's form disappears from my rear-vision mirror, the adrenaline begins to drain from my system. Suddenly, I'm shaking and shivering uncontrollably, and it occurs to me that I could well be going in to shock. I realise I can't possibly drive anywhere like this, so I make another turn and pull into the curb.<p>

I rifle through my wallet for Eleazar's card and, with trembling fingers, dial the emergency number from the card he gave me.

"Eleazar Denali."

"Dr Denali, it's Isabella Black."

"Are you alright, Isabella? I'm seeing you in half an hour, yes?"

"Uh, yeah, well actually, no."

The appointment this afternoon had completely slipped my mind in the turmoil that ensued when I walked through my front door earlier this afternoon. Normally, I wouldn't have come home between school and my appointment but Edward won't be back from San Diego until Friday night, and I had decided sitting in our usual café and daydreaming about him probably wouldn't be a good idea. Instead, I'd decided to run home to brew my own coffee before I headed to the port.

"Is everything okay, Isabella?" Dr Denali's voice is patient but I can hear the edge of concern in it.

"Uh, no, not really. I, uh, I just walked out on Jacob. Um, we had a fight and he found my pills and the factsheet on abuse and he, uh, he lost it."

"Bella, can you elaborate on what you mean when you say he lost it?"

"Uh, he yelled a lot, and um, he pushed me around and pulled my hair and, uh …" my voice cracks and sob escapes my lips as the reality of the afternoon comes crashing down around me.

"Are you injured, Isabella? Do you need medical treatment?"

"I don't think so," I sob. "My head hurts a lot, and my jaw is painful to touch, but I don't think it's anything too serious -" I break off, remembering the bitter taste of the pills.

"But he also, um, he shoved a handful of my pills down my throat, but I, uh, I think I managed to spit them all back out." I cry into the phone, still unable to believe that this is truly happening.

"Okay, Isabella, where are you right now?"

"Um, I'm in my car … outside Dad's house." Tears continue to roll down my cheeks as I try to control the sobs sufficiently to make myself understood.

"Okay, good. Isabella, you did the right thing in leaving. Okay?" Dr Denali's voice is calm and soothing and provides an anchor against the storm that rages in my mind.

"Now, it's very difficult to seriously overdose on SSRIs, which is the category of medication I've prescribed to you, so even if you did swallow a few of them, you should be okay. However, if you feel dizzy or nauseous, or you experience any other physical symptoms, I need you to go to a hospital right away, alright?"

"I feel pretty dizzy right now, but I think its shock." I admit, still sniffling.

"I can imagine that's very true, Isabella. Now can you go somewhere safe? We have no way of knowing how Jacob will react right now. You need to be somewhere safe, and preferably with someone you can trust. Do you know where you want to go for now?"

"Um, I don't know. I just drove away on instinct. I had to leave."

"You said you were at your father's house. Is he home?"

"The cruiser's in the drive," I sniffle. "He should be here."

"Do you feel you could go in there to see him, Bella?"

"I'll go in and see him," I sigh. "But what do I tell him? How do I explain this all to him?" I dissolve again into tears as I contemplate admitting to my dad the abuse I've been receiving at the hands of my husband.

"Just start by telling him the truth, Bella. From what you've told me, he's a good father, yes? I'm sure he'll always stand by you when you need him to."

"Yeah, but – " A thought occurs to me and I begin to hyperventilate. Eleazar talks me through taking some deep breaths and I eventually calm down sufficiently to explain the sudden wave of panic.

"Jacob's dad is Charlie's best friend. What if they've already spoken and he doesn't believe me, or what if he tells me it's all my fault – " I break off, gasping for breath.

"What if he tells me I have to go back to Jacob?" I whisper, petrified.

"You know that you don't, Bella. No matter what anyone says, you DO NOT have to return to him, do you understand?" He says this firmly, and I nod fervently, before I remember I need to verbalise my answer.

"Yes," I whisper.

"Okay. Now, if for some reason, you don't feel safe at your father's, you call me back, okay, and we'll work something else out. There are plenty of options available to you. Either way, I want to see you first thing in the morning, Isabella. I'll clear any other appointments, so I'll be expecting you at nine o'clock."

"Okay," I agree. I appreciate him telling me what to do; at the moment I don't really have the wherewithal to make too many decisions.

"I'll fax through a medical certificate to your place of work, so you don't need to worry about that for the next week at least, alright Bella?"

"Thank you," I sniffle. My mind hasn't managed to process anything beyond the next few minutes, so I'm thankful to be relieved of the burden of dealing with work on top of everything else.

The sound of a door slamming startles me, and I look up, panicking. Charlie stands in his front door, a look of concern on his face.

"Uh, Dr Denali, my Dad's just come out and seen me here. I think I need to go."

"Okay Isabella. Call this number back at any time, no matter the hour, if you need to, alright? And I'll see you tomorrow morning."

I answer affirmatively before I fumble to end the call, and look back up at Dad. As he makes his way toward the car, I can see the look of surprise and concern etched across his face morph into fury and panic.

He's pulling me out of the car before I can decide what I need to say, his strong arms encircling me, his voice soothing. The paternal care and concern radiating from him causes me to lose the battle with my tears once more, and once again, I'm sobbing violently. I grasp hold of his plaid shirt, and collapse into his chest like I did as a small, overwrought child. Dad makes soothing noises as he gently guides me back up the path and into the house. He doesn't speak as he half-carries me into my childhood home and settles me on to the worn couch.

He lets me cling to him as I the tears pour forth in a torrent, gently stroking my hair until I finally manage to wrest control of my emotions back.

"Izzy, honey. What's going on? I'm a little scared."

As the tears slow, I finally gather the courage to pull myself up into a sitting position and look my Dad in the eyes. I see only concern and love reflected back at me.

"Izzy. What ..? You're bleeding, honey."

He jumps up from the couch and returns within seconds with the first aid kit. He kneels at my feet as he gently cleans blood away from my temple and my mouth, and carefully affixes a small bandage to the cut above my eye. I wince as he gently grasps my jaw to turn my face, and again I see fury flash in his eyes.

"Isabella. I'm really struggling to balance father and police chief right now." Dad's voice is low and tight, and the statement causes tears to fill my eyes again.

"I'm sor-"

"Don't." Dad's voice is sharp and halts the apology before it leaves my lips.

"Don't apologise, honey. But I'm going to need you to tell me what happened, Izzy. You've got a nasty cut above your eyes, your lips are bleeding and swollen, and I can see bruising and swelling starting to develop on your jaw. I've seen injuries like this far too often, Izzy. Please tell me this isn't what I think it is …"

"I'm sorry, Dad. I can't. It _is_ what you think. Jacob – " I break off, unable to find the words to tell my father that my husband, the son of his best friend, is responsible for my injuries.

Dad's dark eyes are positively aflame with fury, and I cower away from his rage. His eyes soften immediately and he gently takes my hand.

"I'm not angry at you, Isabella. I love you, sweetheart. Okay? Nothing you tell me will change that. Just, please, honey, I need to know what's happening."

The sincerity of my father's love and support loosens my tongue, and the words begin to pour forth as I relate to him the events of this afternoon. Dad says nothing; he listens, squeezing my hand in support as I speak, his deep brown eyes not leaving my own, a silent reassurance that he hears me, that he believes me, that he loves me.

When my stumbling explanation comes to a halt, Dad gently tucks my hair away from my face and takes both my hands in his.

"Isabella, do I need to take you to the ER? Can the pills you may have swallowed cause any problems?"

I shake my head, explaining what Dr Denali told me regarding overdosing on SSRIs. Dad nods seriously, before he stands up, his hands shaking.

"I'll be back in ten seconds, okay, sweetheart?"

I nod, puzzled, as Dad walks quickly out the room. I almost jump out of my skin at the loud crash that follows his exit, and the inarticulate cry of rage that follows it. I wrap my arms around my knees defensively, tears threatening again as I listen to my Dad try to wrap his head around what I've just confessed to him.

He re-enters the lounge room within a few seconds, his head in his hands. He kneels down before me and gently takes my hands in his again. I notice the knuckles of his right hand are scraped red and raw and it occurs to me that he probably just punched his fist through the kitchen wall.

"I'm sorry about that, honey," he says softly, shame written in the lines of his face.

"Isabella, it's taking an enormous amount of restraint for me not to go find Jacob and deal to him the blows my kitchen was just subjected to." He sighs, concern ageing his face; he looks worn. I feel guilt swell within me as I realize the pain I've brought him.

"Honey, the fact that a psychiatrist gave you a factsheet on emotional abuse distresses me greatly, because that means you've been dealing with this for a while. Sweetheart, I wish you'd come to me sooner ... I'm going to guess this is why you asked me about your mom a while back?"

I nod; surprised Dad has made the connection so quickly. He sighs, shaking his head, guilt twisting his features.

"I should have known then. No matter how many times I've had it out with Billy, he's still convinced Renee's situation was no different to Sarah's … Oh. Shit."

Dad groans suddenly, his expression now chagrined.

"Suddenly, I'm wondering if there's more to that story. Shit. Poor Sarah."

I look up, startled, my breath catching as I process what Dad's implying.

"Right now, I'm concerned about you, Isabella. Please don't tell me you'll contemplate going back to him."

I look into my Dad's face, smiling slightly as his unconditional support.

"You know, Dad," I begin, my voice rasping, "I've thought about leaving so many times over the last few months. I waited for so long, hoping that something would change. I even thought about confronting him, offering him a chance to change. I was so certain that if he realized how unhappy he was making me, he'd want to change. I thought if he loved me, that surely, he'd want to change. But now … No. I can't. I won't. He doesn't love me, Dad. I don't know if he ever has. Honestly, I don't even know why he was so determined to marry me in the first place."

"I don't know if I can answer that, Izzy, " Dad sighs.

"But, honey, I'm proud of you for standing up for yourself and leaving. I'm just sorry it took it this," he gestures at my face, "for you to take that step."

He looks at me nervously, suddenly uncomfortable.

"Isabella, I need to know sweetheart, do you want to press charges?"

"I don't know." I whisper, looking down at my hands, which are still enveloped by my father's.

"Izzy, as police chief, I'm compelled to lay charges against Jacob for assault and reckless endangerment, okay? But, I also want you to apply for a protection order." Dad's tone brooks no argument and I hesitate briefly, before I nod in agreement. Dad exhales in relief and hugs me closer.

The afternoon becomes a blur as Dad takes me down to the station where my injuries are photographed and I have to give a statement regarding the events of the afternoon. A female police officer comes to speak with me, and when she lifts the back of my shirt, she tells me I have more bruising forming across my shoulders and the top of my back.

At some point, I speak to a judge via telephone so a temporary, ex parte Domestic Violence Order for Protection can be granted. I go through these motions robotically, mechanically, my capacity to deal with everything was exceeded hours ago.

Dad gently guides me through the different statements I have to make; he is here as my father first and foremost, and I'm unbelievably grateful for that. Eventually, after what seems like hundreds and thousands of questions and statements and forms to be filled out, he takes my hand and guides me back to his cruiser. Dad takes me back to his house, orders us some Chinese, and switches on a mindless television program.

Eventually, utterly exhausted, I fall asleep on the couch.

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><p>I awake suddenly a few hours later, jolted out of my dark and menacing dreams by the sound of Dad's voice, raised in anger. It's dark in the lounge room, and I smile slightly as I realize Dad has draped a quilt over me where I lie on the couch. He has been a rock for me today.<p>

I sit up, looking around. I guess it's probably around 10 o'clock at night.

Dad's voice sounds from the kitchen, his tone angry.

"I don't care what he says happened, Billy. You haven't seen my daughter's face."

Ah. I'm almost surprised it's taken this long for the Black's to rally together on Jake's behalf. I'm actually surprised he hasn't been blowing my phone up with calls and texts- … until I realize my phone is probably still in my SUV, in my handbag, which I forgot to grab when Charlie found me this afternoon.

I pad softly across the living room and into the kitchen, where Charlie is pacing, a deep scowl marring his features. He looks up as I enter, reaching out to pull me into his arms. I go willingly, relishing the comfort of my Daddy's arms.

"Bullshit, Billy. I don't know how many times we've had this conversation, but get it through your head - Renee and I separated by mutual agreement. I'm sick of having this out with you. It's been twenty years."

I extricate myself from Dad's arms, indicating I'm going to get my bag from the car. He nods, following me down the hall and flicking on the porch light. He stands watching from the doorway as I run to the car, and retrieve my things. I appreciate his concern, but it unnerves me that he thinks it's necessary. I run quickly back inside, visions of Jacob appearing out of the darkness chasing me back to the safety of my father's house.

"I don't care if Isabella was sleeping with a dozen different men, Billy! Physical violence and emotional abuse are never, ever acceptable, and I'm ashamed of you that you're even trying to put this on her."

"No, I absolutely will not pass any messages on to her, from either him or you. We've arranged an order of protection Billy, so any attempts to contact Izzy will be in violation of that. You'd do well to remind your son of that."

Though I can still hear Billy ranting as Dad pulls the phone away from his ear, he presses the end call button, sighing as he slumps into a chair at the kitchen table.

"I'm sorr-"

"Don't, Izzy. Don't ever apologize for this. It's not your fault."

"But you and Billy - "

"Iz, it's okay. You always come first, honey."

"I'm not having an affair." I say stupidly, and Dad raises an eyebrow at me.

"I know that. Even if you were, it's not acceptable grounds for him to abuse you, sweetheart."

I rummage through my bag before I find my phone. Pulling it out, I'm not at all surprised to see that I have several dozen missed calls from Jacob. There are a bunch of text messages as well.

**From Jacob Black:  
><strong>**You will not walk away from me. Get your ass back here, now.**

**From Jacob Black:  
><strong>**You stupid bitch. Come home now.**

**From Jacob Black:  
><strong>**Come home Izzy. I'm sorry, but you know you deserved it.**

**From Jacob Black:  
><strong>**I can't believe you went to the police. Stupid bitch. You will pay for this.**

And yet, amongst the threatening and abusive messages from Jacob, there are three missed calls, and one text, sent several hours earlier, that makes my heartbeat quicken, and a slight smile to tug at my lips.

**From Edward Cullen:  
><strong>**Hey sweet girl, I'm back in Seattle a day early. I miss you. Call me when you can.**

I quickly type out a reply to Edward,

**From Bella Black:  
><strong>**I have appt. 2moro morn. I'll come to Seattle after. Call u then.**

As I hit send, Dad suddenly places his hand over my own.

"Tell me you didn't just text Jacob."

I shake my head quickly.

"Okay. Has he tried to contact you?"

I nod.

"Yeah, there's a bunch of missed calls, a few texts, and a voicemail that I haven't checked yet."

I hand my phone over to Dad, who looks at it, frowning as he reads the texts Jacob has sent. He sighs, before getting me to show him how to listen to the voicemail. He listens to it for me, understanding that I don't want to hear Jake's voice right now. I can tell from Dad's facial expression that it's not good.

"Okay. Sweetheart, don't listen to that, don't answer any calls or texts from him, but also, don't delete anything he sends, okay? It can be used as evidence at the next hearing."

I nod my understanding, slumping in defeat as the realization of everything I'm about to have to deal with crashes over me. I don't have the energy to cry, but Dad seems to understand the strain I'm feeling.

"We'll get you through this, sweetheart."

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><p>When I climb into my SUV in the morning, I am desperate to get away from Forks, and suddenly Port Angeles doesn't seem far enough away.<p>

Trying to muster up some courage to ask for some help, I dial a number I haven't called very often.

"Hello, Bella, lass. How are you?"

"Hey Rose," I burst into tears as soon as I hear her friendly greeting.

"Oh, lassie, what's going on?"

"I, uh, I left Jacob, Rose."

I quickly explain the situation and the events of yesterday afternoon. I beg her not to tell Edward, he needs to hear it from me, not Rosalie, and I assure her I will tell him face-to-face this afternoon.

"Okay, lovey, I'll not tell him. But you did the right thing, Bella. I'm proud of you, that can't have been easy." I can hear the tears in Rose's voice, and it makes my own fall faster.

"What can I do to help, Bella?"

"I was wondering Rosalie, if it's not too much of a hassle, could I please sleep on your couch for a few days? I need to get away from Forks just a little while, just a few days."

"Of course sweetheart. You can have the spare room for as long as you need it, whether it's a few days or a few months, okay lass? I'll boot Edward to the couch. He'll prefer that, anyway, once he hears what's happening."

I thank her profusely, overwhelmed by her kindness.

"It's alright, lovey, it's what we do for our friends, yeah? You let me know if there's anything else you need, a'ight?"

I agree and thank her again, before I hang up, telling her I'll see her tonight. I cry the rest of the way to Port Angeles, overwhelmed by both the situation I find myself in, and the unexpected friendships I've found amongst this crazy group of Brits and Scots. It seems unreal to me that after only a few months, I can trust and depend on them, and know that they truly care for me.

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><p>When I walk into Dr Denali's room the next morning, I'm uncomfortable from the hour-long drive. The bruises across my back and shoulders have made themselves known overnight, and sitting in the driver's seat for so long has been quite painful. The physical pain is just one of many things on my mind though, as the growing list of things I have to deal with is beginning to overwhelm me.<p>

"Isabella, good morning." Dr Denali greets me quietly, concern and worry evident on his face.

I nod glumly. Good? I'm not so sure.

"Why don't you fill me in on what's happened since I spoke to you yesterday afternoon?"

I agree, and in as much detail as I can manage, I tell him about my conversation with my Dad, the charges and protection order we filed, as well as the growing list of concerns I have. I explain that Dad has been my rock, and tell Eleazar about his uncertainty about me heading to Port Angeles this morning. I assured Dad that I'd call him if I needed him, and he was relieved to know I was planning on staying in Seattle for a few days – it's clear that he is pleased at the thought of me being that much further away from Jacob.

"I mean I just don't really know what to do now… I'm wearing dirty jeans and I had to borrow my Dad's shirt. I need clothes. I need somewhere to live. I don't know what to do; I can't really plan beyond getting through the next few days. I've got some friends who are living in Seattle at the moment, and they're letting me stay with them for a little while."

Dr Denali nods his understanding, his compassion evident.

"Yes, Bella, there are a whole lot of changes you're about to have to deal with. And that will be overwhelming, I imagine. But I want you to tell me about how you're feeling right now? How do you feel about everything that happened yesterday?"

"I guess I'm still in shock." I touch my face, the twinge in my jaw reminding me that I probably look like shit. I deliberately avoided looking in the mirror this morning, unable to deal with what I might see.

I sigh, trying to make sense of the cascade of emotions that flood through me. What do I feel?

"Confused. Exhausted. Devastated … Relieved," I say suddenly, surprising myself.

"Can you explain that? Why do you feel relieved?"

"I guess, uh … Do you know how many times, when Jacob would yell at me, or just say the most horrible things to me and I'd end up a sobbing on my knees in the middle of the kitchen floor, that I'd find myself wishing he'd just hit me … I mean, that's so disgusting. Why would I wish that? Physical abuse is terrible, why would I wish it upon myself? That's so disrespectful to the poor women who endure it. How could I even think that? How could I want that?"

"Lots of women who experience intense emotional abuse say the same thing, you know, Isabella. And it's not surprising, really. You are, essentially, just as bruised and beaten, but no one can see the marks he leaves."

I nod my agreement before continuing.

"I used to think, if he'd just hit me, people would see the bruises, and no one would expect me to stay with him. If people saw me black and blue they'd tell me I _had_ to leave him. And I did feel so battered and defeated, but there was no evidence of that, no proof. And now," I gesture to my face, "I guess I'm relieved that the truth has come out. I guess … I'm glad to have the excuse to walk away. Is that wrong? It feels wrong."

"It's not wrong, Bella. Given your situation, given the abuse you've been subjected to, it's not surprising you were looking for a way to escape it. It's not wrong to want to be loved, Isabella. It's not wrong to want to find a way out of a horrible relationship, where you were basically treated as a maid and a slave. It's not wrong to want more than that Bella, to expect more than that."

Dr Denali continues to talk me through the things I'm feeling and the concerns I have. He asks me what I plan to do, and I shrug: I don't have any plans beyond getting to Seattle.

"You have time, Bella. You don't need to rush into making any decisions."

I nod my head in understanding. I'm thankful for the reminder, because at the moment, I have no idea what I ought to do. I need to figure out where to live, I need to figure out what comes next. Do I file for divorce? Or do we have to be separated for a while first?

"I think it would be a good idea if you keep coming to see me twice a week, Bella, alright? You're going to be under a lot of stress for a while."

I agree, and Dr Denali writes me a new prescription for my antidepressants, as the original one is still in Forks. He reminds me to keep taking them, and to call him at any time if I feel I can't cope.

"You're stronger than you realize, Isabella. You proved that yesterday. You refused to continue to accept Jacob's abuse, and you walked away from it. So many women don't believe they have that strength. I'm proud of you."

His words of encouragement are still ringing in my ears as I climb back into my car and begin to head to Seattle.

**From Bella Black:  
><strong>**E, I'll be in Seattle in 2hrs. Coffee? Pick a place and let me know.**

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><p><strong>Okay my lovelies, would you review for me, please? Bella's taking a HUGE step forward, and I'd love to hear your thoughts.<strong>

**Shell xx**


	18. May 2011: More from Edward

**EPOV: May 2011.**

**A/N: Very insistent about telling his side, this fellow.**

**You guys don't mind, right?**

**Bobby Long's **_**I'm Needed Now**_** inspired this chapter; it is a truly beautiful song, and it's very sad that he doesn't seem to play it any more.**

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><p>I wake up far too early on Thursday morning, and it's difficult to orient myself. I'm in San Diego, I remember. The shows I've been playing down the western seaboard have been going over really well, and I've been receiving some really positive reviews and press. These solo shows are essentially just a warm-up as I prepare for a full band tour next month, before we head to the studios in London in September. It seems people are finally starting to listen to my music on face value, taking me seriously as a songwriter, and not just hyping the fact my best friend is a Hollywood superstar. It's been a revelation, and I'm really enjoying the atmosphere of each show.<p>

This morning, however, I awaken feeling strangely uneasy, some peculiar sense of foreboding plaguing me. Try as I might, I can't fall back to sleep, and a disturbing weight seems to have settled over my heart. Something's not right. I toss and turn for an hour or so, eventually accepting the futility of remaining in bed any longer. Checking my watch, I groan as I realize it's only 8am.

I shower and dress, unable to shake the sense of uneasiness that has descended over me. Marcus and I aren't supposed to leave San Diego until tomorrow afternoon, but suddenly, I'm overwhelmed by an urgent need to be back in Seattle. I don't understand it, but I'm not going to fight it. I've been gone for most of May, and I'm missing Bella terribly. We've not spoken often, the hours she's not in school are usually the hours I'm setting up for sound checks and then hitting the stage.

I head out of the motel room, banging on Marcus' door until he finally appears, half-dressed and clearly mostly still asleep.

"What the fuck, lad?"

"Marcus, I'm about to call the airline, I want to get an earlier flight out. Do you want to come with me, or follow me tomorrow?"

Marcus looks over his shoulder and I avert my eyes, blushing, when I realize Heidi is in his bed.

"I'll fly out tomorrow, as planned, Ed. Is everything okay?"

"I don't know. I just have this weird feeling, yeah? I just really want to get back to Seattle as soon as I can."

Marcus looks at me curiously, but merely nods his understanding.

"Okay, well, let me know when you'll be heading out, yeah? And if I need to take any of your gear."

I nod my thanks, before I turn on my heel and jog back to my own room, pulling out my phone as I go. I juggle packing up all my gear as I make arrangements to change my flight to the next available one. It's going to cost a bit, but right now, I couldn't care less. I'm inexplicably burdened with the feeling that I'm needed in Seattle, as soon as possible.

* * *

><p>My flight makes a frustratingly long stopover in Phoenix, which has me wondering about Bella, as I remember she lived here for much of her childhood. I picture her smiling in the sunlight, my hand absently rubbing at my chest in a vain attempt to ease the tightness that lingers.<p>

When I finally land in Seattle, it's 4:30pm, and the pain in my chest has intensified to the point I'm finding it difficult to breathe. The same strange sense of unease that's been plaguing me all day is now threatening to suffocate me; something is not right. I can't help but remember the dream I had in South Carolina, the night Bella finally confessed her depression. I fight away the panic that threatens to drown me, trying to reassure myself that she'll call if she needs me.

It's Thursday, so Bella should be on her way to her appointment in Port Angeles. I shoot her a quick text, just to let her know I'm back in Seattle. I doubt she'll answer immediately, but part of me hopes she'll ask me to meet her in the port after her appointment.

**From Edward Cullen:  
><strong>**Hey sweet girl, I'm back in Seattle a day early. I miss you. Call me when you can.**

* * *

><p>When Bella still hasn't responded by 9pm, I'm no longer fighting the panic; it's taken over completely. She isn't answering her phone, and Rose and Emmett watch me cautiously as I pace around their apartment, my hands tugging violently at my hair. They try to reassure me that she's probably fine, that she'd call if there were a problem, but I take no comfort from their words. Something has happened, I can feel it in my bones, in my heart.<p>

Vainly trying to distract myself, I retreat to the spare room with my guitar, as tune after tune pours forth. I write about three songs in the space of an hour; none of them ones I will record or perform, these are my letters to Bella.

Finally, a little after 10pm, my phone chimes, and I exhale a sigh of relief when I see it's from my sweet Bella.

**From Bella Black:  
><strong>**I have appt. 2moro morn. I'll come to Seattle after. Call u then.**

I frown at Bella's vague response. Why does she have an appointment on a Friday morning? It's a school day; she should be in her classroom. Has something happened? I instinctively know something terrible has happened. It's the only way to make sense of the heaviness that's been weighing upon me all day, as well as the fact Bella is seeing her psychiatrist tomorrow morning when she should be at work.

My mind goes into overdrive as I try to imagine what could possibly have happened. Between coping with her depression and Jacob's abusive behaviour – Oh shit, shit, shit! I have Emmett's keys in my hand and I'm half way out the door as soon as that thought slams into my brain. If that bloody bastard has done anything else to hurt that sweet, precious woman, I don't think I'll be able to stop myself from hurting him. Rosalie grabs me by the arm and drags me back inside before I make it make it out the door. She gently leads me back to the couch, brews me a cup of tea, and assures me that Bella would tell us if she needed us. Thankfully, she also reminds me that her father is a police officer, and is therefore well equipped to deal with any emergency.

I spend the next hour or two alternating between curling up on the couch, gripping my head in my hands, and pacing the floor, panic steadily filling my chest. Eventually, Rosalie hands me two sleeping tablets, which I take with relief, grateful for the escape into oblivion.

* * *

><p>In the morning, I resume my impatient vigil.<p>

I pace.

I flick through the television channels.

I turn it off with a huff.

I pick up my guitar.

I throw it back down in frustration.

I make a cup of coffee.

I tip it out, cold and untouched.

* * *

><p>Rosalie knows something; I can tell by the way she bustles about her apartment, refusing to make eye contact. She leaves at about 10:30, muttering about needing to buy some clothes. I roll my eyes but don't comment: Rosalie won't need to buy another piece of clothing in this lifetime; designers send her things constantly, desperate to have her photographed in their line.<p>

Finally, at around 11am, my phone chimes, and I virtually collapse in relief when I see it's from Bella.

**From Bella Black:  
><strong>**E, I'll be in Seattle in 2hrs. Coffee? Pick a place and let me know.**

* * *

><p>I spend over an hour wandering the streets of Seattle, too wound up to wait in Rose and Em's apartment any longer. As I walk, my mind is filled with Bella. It's been a few weeks since I last saw her, and it's been too long since I held her close, since I looked into those deep brown eyes that own my soul. It's been too long since I pressed my lips to the soft skin of her forehead, since I inhaled the subtle floral scent that clings to her. My mind begins to wander, wondering what it would be like to wind my hands through her long dark hair, to cup her porcelain cheeks and press my mouth to her rose-petal lips.<p>

I know it's a dangerous path to allow my mind to wander, but I wonder what it would be like to undress her slight frame, to feel the softness of her skin against my own, the heat of her body pressed against mine. I wonder what her kisses tastes like, what she looks like when she gives herself over to sensation and ecstasy.

Reality comes crashing back down as I remember that her fuckwit of a husband has never brought her pleasure. I feel fiercely disgusted with myself for allowing my daydreams to take on such an erotic tone, when only moments ago I was panicking about what her abusive husband may have done to her.

Emotions continue to slam through me; my mind and heart thumping around like a pinball machine. Longing, despair, frustration, panic, worry, and desire, hope … love. They bounce around inside me until I'm nauseous and light-headed, utterly overwhelmed by the intensity of feeling. I collapse into a seat in front of a random store, my head in my hands, tears stinging my eyes. I remind myself that I need to get myself together; I need to be strong for Bella. The thought sobers me instantly: my own confusion shoved aside with worry for the beautiful girl who owns my heart.

Finally, it's nearly 1pm and I can make my way towards the place I'm meeting Bella. Despite the worry gnawing at my gut, I can't wait to see her.

* * *

><p>I stand on the sidewalk outside the café, scanning the street for her familiar face. I light a cigarette, something I only do these days when I'm under extreme pressure. I continue to pace, my other hand tugging at my hair, belying my anxiety.<p>

My eyes scan up and down the street, my heart lurching every time I see a girl with long, dark hair approaching.

"Edward!"

I spin around at the sound of her sweet voice, a smile stretching across my face as I see her jogging toward me, her dark tresses bouncing. My arms open instinctively, seeking to draw her close to me.

"Edward! Edward! I left him. I couldn't take it anymore, and I realized I didn't have to!"

Her deep brown eyes sparkle with relief as she launches herself into my arms. I pull her close, reveling in the feeling of her body against mine. I bury my nose in her hair, inhaling deeply, relief and joy coursing through me at her closeness. It takes a few moments for me to fully process what she's said, and I pull back, looking down at her in surprise and concern.

My eyes take in the bandage above one of her eyebrows, her swollen lips, and the bruising that shades her jaw. Wrath and fury pump through my veins just as suddenly. My fists clench and unclench, my body tenses, and red clouds my vision. I feel unhinged, dangerous, and every part of my mind screams at me that I need to find Jacob and beat the fucking arsehole within an inch of his life.

"He … He …" my voice is shaking with anger, tears of rage starting to form. How could that sick bastard even think about hurting her, about touching her in anger, about causing her pain? Can't he see she's everything?

"Shh, Edward, it's okay. I'm okay."

"It is not okay, Bella." I grind out through my clenched teeth.

"No, you're right, hun. It's not. But it's over, Edward. It's over."

She pulls me close again, burying her face into my chest, and I can feel her tiny body shaking. Feeling her fear and fragility as she clings to me, my violent thoughts cease immediately. I swallow hard, trying to be strong and calm for her sake. Clearly, she's been through enough in the last day, without me having a meltdown as well.

Gently, gingerly, I tilt her chin up so I can look into her eyes. Tenderly, I place a gentle kiss over her cut eyebrow, another on her bruised jaw, and a third on the corner of her swollen mouth: wordlessly trying to convey the love I feel for her, and wishing desperately that I could erase whatever happened to cause her those injuries.

"Come on, love, I think we should talk."

Bella nods her agreement, and I tuck her under my arm as I walk us into the café. I choose us a small booth, in a corner that will afford us some privacy. As we sit, I grab hold of Bella's hand, twining her fingers with my own, unwilling to relinquish physical contact with her. Once our orders have been taken, I look up at her beautiful, marred face. I can see in her expressive eyes the relief, the weight that's been lifted from her shoulders.

"Will you tell me what happened, sweet girl?"

Bella nods nervously, gripping my hand tightly between both of hers as she begins to talk, her voice soft and shaky as she tells me the events of yesterday afternoon and evening, as well the details of her appointment this morning. It's hard to listen to; and when she relates to me Jacob's brutality, I try fervently to focus on her sweet face here before me, desperate not to imagine him slamming her fragile body into their kitchen wall. I don't want that visual in my head, it will torment me forever more. When she explains the way he tried to force a handful of pills down her throat, I can no longer control the emotions building within me, bile rises in my throat, and I feel the hot, fat tears begin to spatter down my cheeks. I brush them away in frustration, she's gone through hell and she needs me to be strong for her.

I'm overcome by a desire to find Jacob and beat the fucker to a pulp, but I'm determined to never allow Bella see me act out in anger. She's been subjected to the worst kind of betrayal, and I make a silent vow to myself to never allow my anger to burst out of control in front of this sweet, amazing woman.

Bella reaches out, tentatively, with the hand that I'm not gripping fiercely, and wipes the tears from my cheeks. She smiles softly as she does so, her eyes meeting my own.

"I'm proud of you, Bella."

She sighs, frowning.

"I wish people would stop saying that."

"You've take a big step, sweetheart. It takes courage to walk away from the situation you were in."

Bella shrugs, unconvinced: she still doesn't see her own strength and worth clearly.

"So what happens now, sweet girl?"

"I don't know," she whispers, her voice shaky once again.

"Rose said I can stay with you guys for a few days, but I haven't really thought much beyond that to be honest. I left with only my purse and the clothes I was wearing. I had to borrow a clean shirt from my Dad this morning."

Bella gestures at herself; she is wearing some dark skinny jeans, and an oversized plaid, flannel shirt, the sleeves of which are rolled up to her elbows.

"Rosalie knew? When?" I ask, my voice rising in agitation.

"Don't be upset, Edward. Please. I called her this morning to see if I could stay with you all. I asked her not to tell you what had happened; I wanted you to hear it from me, okay?"

Bella's quiet voice pleads with me to understand, and her gentle hand caresses my cheek, encouraging me to look into her eyes and see the sincerity of her words.

"I thought you should hear it from me, not from Rosalie, okay? But I needed to know if I could stay with her, or whether I needed to make other arrangements, before I left Forks."

My eyes flutter closed as I lean into her delicate hand; it's warm and my cheek seems to burn at the contact, the gentle gesture of affection Bella bestows so freely. I take her hand and press a soft kiss to her palm, nodding my understanding.

"I'm not upset, love. I understand."

"Thank you," she whispers.

A shrill ring pierces the calm that has settled around us, an unwelcome intrusion. Bella stiffens, her hand gripping mine with surprising strength, and one glance at her face tells me she knows who is calling her. She stares at her phone where it rests on the table, panic written across her face. As I reach for it, she shakes her head.

"Don't answer it. I have a temporary order for protection, so he's not supposed to contact me."

The phone goes silent, though a few minutes later it beeps, indicating the bastard has left her a voicemail.

"Do you want me to listen to it?" I ask gently.

"Not really."

"Sweetheart – "

"I know, Edward. You're worried about what he might do. Fine. Check it if you must. But I don't want to know, okay? Just, Dad says not to delete them, okay, because they can be useful when we have to go to court."

"Court?"

"Uh, yeah. The protection order is only temporary, so I have to go to court in two weeks to get a more permanent one. And, uh, Jacob will have to be there too, and he'll get the opportunity to defend himself and to try to have it overturned."

Bella shifts uncomfortably in her seat, and I realize then that she still has a long road to walk. I don't know divorce laws work in the US, but I imagine that it will involve a whole lot more court appearances and legal red tape. I squeeze her hand sympathetically before I pick up her phone and hand it to her. She sighs and pushes a few buttons before she hands it back to me. I take a deep breath to steady myself before holding it to my ear.

"_You have 1 new message, 1 saved message."_ The disembodied voice intones.

"_Message received, May 20__th__ at 2:36pm …"_

I hold my breath as Jacob's voice, loud and abrasive, assaults my ears.

"_Isabella. Where are you, babe? How could you do this to me? You know I love you, but you made me so angry hiding that shit from me. You shouldn't have done that, Izzy. I'm sorry if I hurt you, but really, you brought that on yourself … "_

His voice turns pleading, an unpleasant whine to his tone.

"_Come home, babe. You know this isn't right. How could you involve the cops? It was just a little fight, babe. I can't believe you'd do this to me. You need to come home. I need you here, Izzy."_

Abruptly, his voice becomes harsh and angry, and I stiffen, furious with the sick bastard who has hurt my sweet Bella so badly. How dare he speak to her the way he does?

"_You're a stupid little bitch, Isabella. Where are you? Have you run off with that English fucker? You stupid whore! Do you really think I'm going to let you just leave me? I won't allow it. I'm going to-"_

The message cuts off before he could make any threats, which relieves me. I don't think I could handle listening to him threaten the precious woman whose hand I am still holding tightly. On the other hand, I'm savvy enough to realize that any threats he leaves on record could be useful evidence when Bella has to face him in court.

"_To delete message, press 1. To save message, press 2. To hear the message again, press 3."_

I quickly press the number 2 on the keypad, ensuring I hear the automated voice tell me I've successfully saved the message before I end the call.

I look up at Bella, who is looking down at our joined hands, her face lined with worry and fear. I squeeze her hand and she looks up at me warily.

"I've told you before, love, nothing I hear that bastard say will ever change the way I see you, yeah?"

Bella nods, her expression conveying her relief at my words.

I release her hand to grab my wallet and throw some cash down on the table. As Bella stands, I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her tightly to me as we make our way back into the street. Bella murmurs that she needs to buy some toiletries and clothes, so we head off in search of the things she needs. I maintain physical contact with her the whole time we're out; holding her hand, hugging her to my side, guiding her with my hand on the small of her back, pressing gentle kisses to her forehead. It's an overwhelming compulsion, a physical need; I need to be touching her constantly. Bella seems to feel the same draw, the magnetic pull that keeps us connected, and her shaky hand searches out mine from time to time.

* * *

><p>It's close to 4pm when we make it back to Rosalie and Emmett's apartment. Bella drives us, and I pull out the spare garage sensor thingy that Rose gave me so Bella can park her SUV in the secure car park, and we can avoid any paparazzi that may be loitering. We stagger up the stairs to their flat, Bella smiling patiently when I insist on carrying all her shopping bags.<p>

Rose and Em are conspicuously absent; though I don't think they're currently working on anything. There's a note on the kitchen explaining they'll be home with dinner, and that Rose has set up the spare room for Bella and that I'm to sleep on the couch. Bella, of course, immediately protests, but I tell her I won't hear of her sleeping on the couch. I suggest she has a nap, and yawning, she agrees. I am thankful she doesn't argue - she is visibly wilting where she stands, exhaustion written across her delicate features.

She hesitates at the door of the bedroom, her eyes on the floor. Concerned, I tip up her face, encouraging her to tell me what is wrong.

"I don't want to dream," she whispers.

I press another kiss to the top of her head, encircling her slight frame with my arms and hugging her close.

"It's okay, sweet girl. You're safe now." I promise her.

"Will you lie down with me?" she mumbles, and I can see she is fighting her pride to ask this.

"Of course, love." I whisper, gently pulling her toward the bed.

We both kick of our shoes, and climb under the covers, fully clothed. Bella curls into me, her head resting on my chest, and falls asleep almost immediately. I watch her sleep for a while, tenderly stroking her hair away from her face, marveling at her quiet perfection, her understated beauty, her gentle spirit, her loving soul.

She is everything.

* * *

><p>When I awake, the first thing I see are Bella's dark eyes studying me in the gathering gloom. She smiles gently as I open my eyes, and I squeeze her against me. She winces and I release her instantly, apologies falling from my lips. She silences me with a finger against my mouth, telling me she'd forgotten about the bruises across her upper back from yesterday. Seeking her permission, I gently sit her up in front of me, lifting her shirt upwards to reveal the blackening skin across her shoulders and back. Horror and fury build in me again, but I quell them ruthlessly, instead pressing gentle kisses across her back, the way I did her facial injuries.<p>

When I finish, I gently lower her shirt back down, and Bella spins to face me.

"Why did you do that?" she asks me, her voice still husky with sleep. "You kissed my face as well. Doesn't it disgust you, seeing me like this?"

"I just don't want the last time you were touched to have been in anger, Bella." I sigh. "Jacob's actions disgust me, yes, but you don't. You couldn't."

I take her hand in my own, looking at our fingers as I speak, my voice low.

"As much as I desperately wish I could, I can't erase what he did, Bella. And I just can't allow the last time you were touched to have been in violence and anger, when you should only ever be touched with affection and warmth and love."

Bella's eyes fill with tears as she looks at me, and I gently pull her into my lap. Her quiet cries build in intensity until she is sobbing desperately into my chest. I hold her close, mindful of her injuries, stroking her hair, murmuring gentle assurances that she'll get through this, that there are people who care for her, who will walk beside her.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, I sit by Bella's bedside, her hand in mine, until she finally falls asleep sometime around midnight. Once she drifts off, I watch her sleep for a few minutes, her face relaxed and peaceful. In the dark, her bruises aren't visible, and she looks so young, her soft lips parted slightly; her thick dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks. I press a gentle kiss to the top of her head, before softly leaving the room. I leave the door half-open, concerned Bella will be plagued by nightmares tonight.<p>

Rose and Emmett are curled up on the couch in front of the television, and when Rose sees me emerge, she hits mute and gestures for me to join them. I slump into an armchair, my head in my hands. Emmett offers me a glass of whiskey and I nod gratefully, toasting him wordlessly before I swallow the aromatic amber liquid, relishing the burn in the back of my throat.

"She's asleep?" Rosalie asks softly.

I nod my head, sighing.

"Yeah. I'm afraid she'll have nightmares though. She's gone through sheer hell in the last thirty odd hours."

Rose is watching me closely, and I frown at her.

"What's on your mind, Rose?"

"You're in love with that lass."

I stare at my hands as they grip the empty whiskey glass.

"I know," I whisper, there's no use denying it to my closest friends. "I think I have been since the first time I spoke to her."

"What are you going –"

"Nothing." I cut Rose off, knowing what she's going to ask.

"Look, Rose, I'd do anything for that sweet, beautiful woman, and right now, she needs friends. She needs people to support her, love her, care for her, and show her that she is so much more than that bastard made her believe she is. There is no way she's in any shape to even contemplate another relationship, and she won't be for a very long time, I'd imagine. She's been with Jacob since she was eighteen, and in a way, she doesn't know how to define herself apart from him. She's going to need time to relearn who she is, and what she wants out of life."

Rose smiles at me gently, as Emmett nods his understanding.

"I love her, Rosie, yes. She owns my heart and soul, and she doesn't even know it. She may never be ready to move on, and if that's the case, I'll be content to be her friend for as long as she'll have me around."

I sigh, stretching my legs out in front of me.

Emmett looks up, suddenly, concern written all over his face.

"We're going to have to be careful, aye? Bringing her in and out of this place with the fucking paps around. The last thing the poor lassie needs is her face splashed across some trashy magazine that tries to claim I'm having an affair with her."

I nod in agreement, the thought having already occurred to me. Well, the need to protect her from the paparazzi had; the fact she could well be painted as Em's mistress hadn't entered my mind.

Rosalie sighs, and I can see her lavender eyes are full of tears as she looks at the darkened doorway of the room Bella is sleeping in.

"It's just … it's just inconceivable to me that anyone should have to endure what she has …" she whispers, and Emmett pulls her into his massive chest as she sniffles quietly.

We sit in silence for a while, a silent vigil outside Bella's door, each of us lost in thought.

Rose and Emmett decide to head to bed an hour later, both of them squeezing my shoulder in support as they make their way out of the room. I contemplate lying down on the couch, but can't find the energy to take the three steps to reach it.

* * *

><p>A few hours later I'm wrenched out of a fitful sleep by the sound I'd been dreading. Bella's screams and cries cut through me like a knife.<p>

"No, no, NO! Jacob, NO. Please, please, don't hurt me. NO!"

Bile rises in my throat and I swallow harshly, trying to keep a lid on my visceral response to her heart-wrenching cries. I leap out of the armchair and rush to the bedroom, flicking on the lamp beside her bed. She is tangled in the sheets, her arms flailing as she fights off an unseen attack.

"Bella, Bella." I call, terrified to wake her, but unable to bear watching her writhe and fight in distress. "Sweetheart. Bella. Wake up, love, wake up. You're dreaming."

I try to keep my voice gentle, unwilling to frighten her any further.

She sits bolt upright suddenly, her brown eyes wide with terror as she scrambles backwards toward the headboard. I watch her cautiously, as she takes in her surroundings, struggling to make sense of where she is.

Just as suddenly, she sags against the pillows, breathing heavily.

"Edward," she gasps.

"I'm here, love."

"Edward. I'm, I'm so sorry. I, uh, I need you."

"I'll do anything for you, love, anything."

"Don't let go of me," she whispers, pulling at me until I lie down beside her. She fits her body against mine, and I feel a jolt of joyful pride that I can do this for her, that I can provide her with the comfort she craves.

"I'll never let you go, Bella," I promise, murmuring under my breath.

"I can't. I love you."

* * *

><p><strong>Review? Please? They make me as happy as Edward's hugs do …<strong>


	19. MayJune 2011

**Chapter 15: May – June 2011**

**A/N: Gosh, I bloody love you all. I'm so thankful to everyone who has read, reviewed, and/or favourited this story. **

* * *

><p>One of the first things I learn after leaving Jacob is that crises like this are when you really learn whom your true friends are, and whom you can truly rely on.<p>

My Dad is the strongest man I know. He is my rock. He calls several times a day, mostly just to express his love and support for me. Though he urges me to call Renée, Dad understands my reticence about telling her everything over the phone, so he gently offers to do it himself. I'm thankful for that; though Mom and Dad bear no ill will toward each other, it's still awkward when they talk. I'm grateful that my Dad is willing to put his own discomfort aside for my sake.

Once Renée has been informed, she texts me a few times a day (or night, apparently the time differences are just beyond her), just to tell me that she's thinking of me and that she loves me. My mother might be a crazy, flaky, hippy stoner, but she loves me in her crazy, flaky, hippy way.

I expect the Black's to rally behind Jacob, and they don't disappoint. Billy calls several times, and even finally learns how to send text messages just so that he can make it clear to me what a whore/slut/bitch he thinks I am. I try to tell myself that it doesn't matter, but it still hurts, the man has been like a second father, a surrogate uncle, to me for most of my life.

I make the mistake of answering the phone when Rachel calls, believing our relationship is close enough that she might actually take the time to hear me out. I am wrong. Instead, she screams so loudly about what a filthy, cheating skank I am, that Rosalie appears from the other room to see what the commotion is all about. Jacob has done an excellent job of convincing his family that he is the injured party in all of this: painting me as an ungrateful shrew who's been screwing around whilst he worked hard to provide for me.

I don't answer Rebecca's call, presuming she is just ringing to reinforce her twin's view on things. She doesn't leave a message or send any texts, and for that I am grateful.

I can tell the moment Jacob's friends and workmates find out what has happened. My phone is suddenly inundated with more of the whore/skank/slut/bitch/shrew/harlot insults; though Paul and Jared kindly offer me their services if I feel like screwing around some more.

I hear nothing at all from my friends and co-workers in Forks, though I presume that is because news of my flight has not yet reached them.

By contrast, the friends I've made more recently are the one's who offer me the most support.

Emmett and Rosalie don't pry, but they make it very clear that I'm welcome in their home for as long as necessary. Emmett is scheduled to start shooting another film in the area, but they insist I'm not an inconvenience. When I offer to rent my own place or book a hotel room, Rosalie's purple eyes flash, and she halts me before I can finish speaking. She points at the spare bedroom, asking me if she needs to carve my name on the door to make me understand that it's mine for as long as I need it.

Even Leah sends me a message of support and encouragement; I presume Edward has spoken to her at some point, because she and Alec are back in London.

And then there is Edward.

Beautiful, sweet, tenderhearted Edward.

Edward is, well, he's everything.

If ever I thought I mattered to no one, Edward is the definitive proof that this is not true. Edward doesn't leave my side for the first three days after I leave Jacob, and it's only when I enter Dr Denali's office on Monday morning that he let's me out of his sight. Instead of it feeling smothering or oppressive, I feel cared for and cherished. Edward manages to hover around me without making me feel uneasy; instead it makes me feel like I'm somehow special to him, that I matter.

Whilst Jacob was mostly content to ignore me unless he wanted something from me, Edward is attentive and considerate, and constantly seeks to make sure I'm all right, or if there's anything I need. I watch him as he interacts with Rose and Emmett as well, and I realize that it's his nature to be courteous, considerate and giving of himself. I realize that he is truly selfless: there is nothing he wouldn't do for the people who are important to him, and somehow I've found myself included in that group of people.

* * *

><p>"Bella? Bella? Sweetheart, are you with me?"<p>

I look up into Edward's face, startled. I stand up and take a few steps towards him, pausing as he holds out my phone to me. I look at it warily, unsure if I want to speak to whoever is on the line. He places his hand over the mouthpiece when he notices my expression, and wraps his free arm around me.

"It's Alice, love. Do you want to talk to her, or would you like me to ask her to call back later?"

"No, it's okay," I sigh, "I'll talk to her."

Edward hands me the phone and then makes to leave, presumably to give me some privacy. Panicking, I grab his hand and pull him back into the room that has been my home for the last five nights. His face softens in understanding and he takes a seat on the bed next to me, rubbing soothing circles on my back as I hold the phone up to my ear, my hand shaking slightly.

"Hello?" I mumble.

"Izzy! What the hell is going on? Where have you been? Why haven't you been at work? I went by your place this afternoon and Jacob started cussing me out for putting ideas into your head. He said you've run off with another man, and then Edward Cullen answers your fucking phone? What the fuck, Iz? I mean, I know Jake can be a jerk but seriously, why didn't you tell me you were sleeping with Edward?"

Overwhelmed by her tirade of questions, I can feel myself begin to tremble. I feel Edward's arms wrap around me, responding wordlessly to my panic, and I force myself to relax into the warmth and comfort he provides.

"Alice," I croak. "I need you slow down and listen to me."

"I'm listening," she says softly, her tone changing in response to my own.

"I left Jacob. I'm not sleeping with Edward, though I am staying with him and Rose and Emmett in Seattle at the moment. I haven't been at work because of the bruises Jacob left on my face last Thursday when he found out I was taking antidepressants and being counseled about the fact that he was emotionally abusive."

Alice swears softly, and I continue gently, realizing this news is going to be a shock to my friends and family.

"Allie, I'm sorry you had to find out this way, I know it's hard to hear, and I wish I could have told you in person, but, well, I just had to get out of Forks and calling everyone and telling them what happened has been the last thing I've felt like doing. I've been in a bit of a daze for the last few days."

I take a deep breath as Alice murmurs her understanding.

"You were right all along Alice, okay? Jacob treated me like absolute crap; to him I was just a maid who cooked and cleaned for him, and a body to fuck when he felt like it. He was manipulative and abusive, but I only recently saw it for what it was. For a long time I blamed myself, and honestly, it's still hard to accept that I'm not at fault."

At this admission, I feel Edward stiffen, and I look up into his green eyes, which flash with anger. I know him well enough to know that his anger is not directed at me, but at Jake for having made me feel the way I do. I reach up and touch his cheek gently, wordlessly communicating that I'm okay. He smiles gently, and presses another kiss to the top of my head. He must replicate this gesture dozens of times a day, but I will never tire of it.

"Shit, Izzy. I'm so sorry. And I hope you know that I derive no satisfaction whatsoever from being right in this case."

"I know," I say simply.

"So what are you going to do, Iz? Are you going to file for divorce?"

"Yeah, I suppose, in time. I just don't have the energy to deal with all that right now. I'm going to wait until after we're through with court next Friday."

"Court?"

"Um, yeah. Dad had me take out a temporary order for protection, but I need to go to court next week to be granted a permanent one. Uh, Jacob will have to be there too."

"Do you want me to be there, Izzy?"

"Um, I don't know. I'm trying not to think about it to be honest," I shrug.

"Okay, I can understand that, sweetie. Is there anything I can do? Anything you need?"

"Uh, I don't know, Alice. Um, I haven't really figured anything out yet. I don't know where I'm going to live; I don't know what I'm going to do. I, uh, I'm thinking of taking the rest of the semester off work, because I don't think I can deal with being back in Forks. But, at the moment I only have two pairs of jeans, three shirts, one jacket, and only a few pairs of undies. I, just, I …"

I break off, the hopelessness of the situation crashing down around me again, and my throat closes up as the tears begin to flow.

Edward gently takes the phone from me. I presume he apologizes to Alice and tells her I'll speak to her later, because I'm too busy trying to contain the pain in my chest to pay attention. I'm starting to hyperventilate as Edward pulls me carefully into his lap, humming a soothing melody whilst I cry.

"I just, I just …" I stammer, unable to force the words out.

"Shh, shh, love, it's okay. I'm here, sweet girl, I won't let you go. We'll work it all out."

"Edward," I sob. "What am I going to do? It's not just my marriage that's been destroyed, but my whole life has been turned upside down. I have no home; I don't even have any fucking clothes. I can't go back to my job; I can't face going back to Forks. So I'm going to have to find a new job, as well as somewhere to live, and I …"

"Shh, Bella. It's okay, love. You don't have to figure it all out right now, yeah? You've got time. You can't possibly think we'd let you end up out on the street, sweetheart. Don't cry, sweet girl. Don't cry."

* * *

><p>After a week of living in Rose and Emmett's flat, I'm starting to feel claustrophobic. They try to keep me busy, and my mind off Jacob, but there are only so many DVDs I can watch, only so many games of Monopoly and Scrabble I can endure. I'm beginning to feel guilty again for my intrusion into my friends' lives. Emmett has a film due to start shooting next week, so I imagine he and Rose will be occupied with that from Monday. The fact that they'll be going about their daily lives again relieves me; I don't want to be responsible for them putting their lives on hold.<p>

Edward assures me he has no commitments until the first week of June, when he's due to hit the road for several weeks with a full band. He asks me several times if I want to come with them, knowing how much I've always wanted to see more of the country. I equivocate, changing the subject each time he asks. Part of me wants to go; honestly, I could use the distraction, I'd love to do some traveling, and getting to see Edward perform most nights for a month seems like a dream come true.

However, I'm also beginning to wonder how long my life can remain in the holding pattern it's been in for a week now. I'm almost 25, and at some point I'm going to have to figure out how I'm going to support myself, where I'm going to live, and what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. I resign from my position at Forks High School; knowing I can't live there any longer. Money's not a pressing issue just yet, as I've always been a saver, and Jacob and I never got around to merging our accounts, but I know at some point I'm going to have to figure out a plan for the future.

On top of these concerns, I'm also worried that I'm becoming too dependent on Edward. I take to going for walks by myself each day, just to prove to myself that I can. I don't want my relationship with him to become some sort of crutch, and I definitely don't want to become a burden on him. He should be able to live his life, without worrying about whether or not I'll be okay.

I realize also that he won't be happy to sleep on Rose and Em's couch indefinitely. What if he meets a girl? He can't bring her back to a couch in his mate's flat. The pang of jealousy I feel at the idea of Edward bringing home a woman is unnerving. I have no claim on him, and when I think about it, it's actually almost unbelievable that he's not seeing anyone. He's sweet and kind, incredibly good-looking, and ridiculously talented; surely women must be falling over themselves to get his attention.

It occurs to me that I've not heard of Edward speak of any woman in the time I've known him. He told me a long time ago that he and Leah had a 'friends with benefits' kind of relationship, but that ended around the same time Edward and I met, when Leah and Alec started dating.

I realize that it's surely only a matter of time before Edward meets a woman he can love, who will love him, as he deserves. Whoever she is, she will be an incredibly lucky woman. Thinking about this gives me resolve, and the next time Edward asks me to come with him on tour, I agree. I will only have so long by his side, before another woman claims his heart and his affections, and so I decide to enjoy the brief time I can have with him.

There is a tiny voice in the far recesses of my mind that wonders if I could be that woman; if Edward could ever look beyond the damaged, broken woman I've become, and want me. Thinking about another woman wanting to be with him makes me realize that falling in love with Edward would be as easy and as natural as breathing.

I realize though that that is exactly why Edward could never want me, why he deserves so much more than me. He is whole; he is light and love and kindness. He is gentle and tender and compassionate. He deserves someone as whole as he is, who can love him as completely and as selflessly as he loves. He should never be weighed down by someone else's trash, by a woman who couldn't even inspire tenderness and affection in her husband. Edward deserves someone _lovely_, not someone secondhand, damaged and unlovable.

* * *

><p>Alice and Jasper come out to Seattle to see me on Saturday. I am glad to see them, and we all, by some unspoken agreement, steer clear of any mention of Jacob, or the court appearance required of me the following Friday. Instead, I introduce them to Edward, Rosalie and Emmett, and, after Alice has expertly applied some make-up to my yellowing bruises, we spend the afternoon wandering around Pike Place, enjoying the sunshine. I wonder briefly if Em and Rose are worried about exposure, but they assure me that baseball caps and sunglasses should keep them from being recognized for the most part.<p>

Alice and Rose hit it off immediately, and Jasper and Emmett find they have several common interests. I trail behind them all, feeling out of it. I've lost that ability to chat about nothing, to smile simply because it's sunny and it's spring. I feel aimless, like a boat bobbing uselessly on a becalmed sea, its sails empty of wind: I have no direction, no forward propulsion. I know the storm is coming, but I can do nothing but wait until it passes, and hope that I'll be able to remain afloat.

As I follow my chattering friends around, I feel a warm hand slide into my own, and I look up, startled, into Edward's sea green eyes. His gaze is warm but concerned and when he pulls me to him, I don't fight it. There is some fantastical, magnetic draw that I feel toward him, and I can't resist it. I don't want to.

"Are you okay, love?" he murmurs in my ear, pulling me away from where our friends are window-shopping. We stand, looking over Puget Sound as I struggle to answer him.

"I don't know. Yes. No. No, I'm really not, Edward. I'm sorry, I know you just wanted to enjoy some time out of the apartment. Come on."

I make to move back towards Rose and Alice, but Edward pulls me back into his embrace, wrapping his arms around me.

"It's alright, Bella. I don't mind. And sweetheart, it's alright to not be okay. It's only been just over a week, love. You need time, we all understand that."

As I look up into Edward's soft, understanding eyes, I see the sincerity of his words. I lean into him, accepting the comfort he offers so freely, wrapping my own arms around his waist. We stand, silent, still, as Seattle bustles around us. It's a moment I never want to end. If only I could stand like this, secure in Edward's embrace forever. Here, in his arms, the ache in my heart is gone, and I feel whole.

Of course, it's only a momentary reprieve.

"Come on, sweet girl. I think we're going out for dinner."

* * *

><p>Dinner was a bad idea.<p>

The minute the waitress sees Emmett, she starts hyperventilating. Presumably, she also has a twitter account, because it only takes fifteen minutes for a dozen paparazzi to arrive.

Edward discreetly places his own cap over my head as we battle our way out the front door of the restaurant. As we walk as quickly as possible back towards the apartment, a few of the photographers start calling out, asking Emmett who his friends are, whether we're foreigners as well, and why we're in such a hurry. Jasper and Edward walk either side of me, Emmett and Rosalie in front, shielding me. I realize they're more concerned about making sure I'm not photographed than they are about themselves and my heart swells with gratitude at their consideration. I reach out and squeeze Edward's hand in silent thanks.

Of course, it's the photograph that is snapped at that exact moment that makes the gossip pages of one of the local newspapers the next morning. Emmett and Rose are the focus of the photograph, the headline some nonsense about them bringing over more of their compatriots to 'steal' American film roles. However, the photograph, taken from a side angle, quite clearly shows Edward and I holding hands as we walk behind them. Thankfully my face is turned away, angling to look up towards Edward as he smiles down at me.

When I start to panic, Em and Rose assure me that people would have to examine it pretty damn closely to recognize me. It seems, however, that my husband has been examining the tabloids closely, because that day he calls more than 30 times, leaves me three more voicemails, and sends 16 text messages; each of them accusing me of being a lying, cheating whore.

It's not Jacob's reaction that I'm pondering as I fall asleep that night, but rather the expression captured on Edward's face. It's an expression I see all the time, and yet it seems somehow so different when captured by a photograph. His eyes are warm, his smile gentle; he looks at me the way Emmett looks at Rose, the way Jasper looks at Alice … the way I always wished Jacob would look at me.

As I lie there in the darkness, a tiny, fragile, seed of hope is planted in my heart.

* * *

><p>On Monday morning, Edward tells me he's got rehearsals for the next three days before we head out on his tour on Saturday. I've agreed to go with them; the idea of getting out of the state is one I welcome. Regardless of whether or not the Order for Protection is granted, we decide that being on the road will be a good way to keep me both safe and occupied. Emmett even hires a security guy to travel with us, which makes me uneasy. Edward, however, seems completely unfazed by it, and Seth seems like friendly enough, so I let it slide.<p>

Monday and Tuesday I find myself alone in the apartment. I spend a little time browsing the Internet, even buying a few patterns for clothes I want to make when I can get my sewing machine and materials back. I take the opportunity to start thinking about what I'm going to do long term. I'm not so sure I want to continue teaching. I think about going back to school to do some post-graduate study, and spend a little while checking out different options available to me. Still, without things between Jacob and I settled it's difficult to make any concrete plans.

I sigh and shut Edward's laptop shut. My own is still at home, along with everything else I own. I really need to collect some of my stuff, but I'm not desperate enough to contemplate going to Forks just yet to get them.

The sound of my phone ringing startles me out of my reverie, and I pick it up, checking the screen warily before I answer.

"Hey Dad."

"Hey Izzy, how are you, honey?"

"Meh. I've been better, I guess. What's up, Dad?"

Dad sighs heavily, which immediately sets my nerves on edge.

"What Dad, what is it?"

"Nothing really Izzy, I'm just pissed off. I'm sick of the gossip running around this town."

"Oh." Of course, news of Jacob being charged and my leaving would spread quickly in a small town like Forks, and with me having disappeared, Dad would be bearing the brunt of people's curiosity and judgments.

"I'm sorry, Dad."

"Don't be sweetheart. In situations like this, you find who truly matters to you, you know?"

"Yeah Dad, I really do."

"Look, Izzy, I don't know how to tell you this …"

"What Dad? Please, whatever it is, just … just tell me." My fingers curl into fists, and I can feel my nails cutting into my palm, agitation and nausea creeping over me.

"Look, Izzy. I, uh, I wanted Jacob to be charged with attempted murder."

"What?" I manage, weakly, my mind going completely blank.

"I wanted him charged with attempted murder for shoving the pills down your throat, Izzy. But they tell me it won't stick, because Jacob admitted to researching sertraline, so he knew it wouldn't kill you, even if you swallowed a more than a few of them."

I say nothing, my mind quite literally overwhelmed at the thought that Jacob may have been attempting to do me serious harm.

Dad sighs, before continuing.

"So, the charges will remain as assault and reckless endangerment. We asked Jacob, several times, why he did that and we couldn't really get an answer out of him that made any sense. He just kept saying –"

"That I made him do it."

"Yeah. How did you know that, Izzy?"

"He's still sending dozens of text messages a day."

"Right. Well, he'll be charged with breaching the temporary protection order as well, seeing as he's continued to call and text even with it in effect."

"Why won't he leave me alone, Dad?" I sob; suddenly weary of the constant barrage of threats and abuse.

"Izzy," Dad sighs. "Honestly, honey, I don't know. He keeps telling Billy, who keeps telling me, that you won't actually leave him. They both seem genuinely convinced that you'll drop the charges before Friday and that you'll go back to him."

"That's my fault, Dad. I've never said no to him before, so he probably can't believe that I'm saying no and meaning it this time."

"Isabella, it is _not_ your fault."

"You know what I mean, Dad."

"I do." Dad sighs, "I'm just sorry I can't make the more serious charge stick, Izzy. I really wanted to see the bastard do some proper jail time."

"In a way I'm glad, Dad. I don't think I could cope knowing he was actually trying t-to k-k-kill me."

Tears overtake me again as I contemplate the very thought. I collapse to my knees as my legs give out on me. Sobs wrack my body, as furious tears splash down my cheeks.

"Shh, shh, sweetheart."

The most beautiful voice in the world is whispering words of comfort and love in my ear, and I feel warm, safe arms slide around me. Edward gently takes the phone from my hands, holding it to his ear as he pulls me into his lap.

"Sir? This is Edward Cullen."

I tune out, not wanting to hear whatever he and Dad are saying. Instead I focus on each deep breath I pull through my lips, trying to calm myself down. At some point Edward and Dad hang up, but Edward continues to hold me, waiting patiently for me to pull myself back together.

I look up at him, opening my mouth to apologize, but he gently presses a long, elegant finger to my lips.

"Don't apologize, sweet girl."

I smile weakly at how well he knows me, and his answering smile warms my heart.

"There you are, love. It's okay."

I sigh, resting my head on his shoulder.

"Bella?"

"Mmm."

"What's your maiden name?"

"Swan. Why?"

"Well, one, so I know what to call your dad. And two, because I can't stand to call you by _his_ name."

* * *

><p>"Bella, wake up sweetheart."<p>

I sit up groggily at the sound of Edward's voice.

"What day is it?" I wonder aloud, rubbing my still heavy eyes.

"Wednesday," Edward chuckles. "It's the first of June, actually, so …"

I feel a sharp pinch on my thigh, and I squeal in surprise, pushing Edward's hand away. I look up to chastise him, and my breath catches in my throat.

He is sitting on the bed beside me, obviously freshly showered. His hair is dark and damp; a few beads of water sliding down his cheekbones. I watch one water droplet slide its way down his temple, caressing his cheek, his jaw, before it tumbles down his throat and soaks into the collar of his shirt.

When I look up, Edward's green eyes are burning with some intense emotion that I can't identify, and I blush deeply, dropping my eyes to my lap, embarrassed that he caught me staring.

"Love, do you want to come watch us rehearse today? You can meet the band, and then we can go out for lunch?"

"Um, are you sure I won't be in the way?"

"Of course, sweet girl. We're just going to do one complete run through of all the songs we'll play this tour, so it will only take two hours, three if we fuck up badly."

Edward grins down at me, and I can't help but smile back. It's been so long since I saw Edward play, I realize wistfully.

"Yeah, I'd like that. I haven't heard you play in far too long."

Edward's answering smile is brilliant.

"Okay, love. Grab a shower and I'll make you some coffee and toast. We'll leave in about 45 minutes."

* * *

><p>Watching Edward and his band play is the most fun I've had in months. Riley, the drummer, is from Northern Ireland, and I can't understand a word he says. He talks ridiculously fast and his accent is insanely thick. Demetri, who also plays guitar, and Jane, who plays bass, are both Americans, and it seems they have the same problem understanding their drummer.<p>

"Edward's the only one who can understand him. It doesn't matter, though," whispers Jane, smirking. "All we need to understand is 'One, Two, Three, Four'. The rest of the time, we just smile and nod."

I laugh at her revelation. I like Jane immediately. She's tiny, blonde and feisty, and she's a wicked bass player.

As Edward predicated, rehearsal takes them two hours, and they seem to be having a blast playing together. I enjoy the opportunity to watch Edward in his element; I'd almost forgotten the sheer joy his songs have brought to my life over the last two years. It's clear that Edward enjoys playing with a band as well, and I find myself giggling at the goofy way he bops around whilst playing. It must be really something to hear other musicians playing the music you've written, I decide.

Riley, Demetri and Jane take off after they've finished rehearsing, but Edward lingers, sitting on the edge of the stage, fiddling with his guitar. I approach him from where I've been sitting, watching them, and he smiles, motioning for me to come sit beside him.

"I wrote you something."

"You wrote me a song?"

I clap my hands together in excitement and Edward laughs delightedly at my enthusiasm.

"I said I wrote you something, I didn't write say I wrote you a song," he chuckles.

"You wrote me a poem?" I guess, confused.

"Nope."

I look at Edward expectantly, and he smiles shyly.

"I wrote you a lullaby, love."

I look up at Edward cautiously. Does he know I've been having trouble sleeping?

He runs his hand through his nervously.

"I, uh, you've been having nightmares, yeah? And I desperately want to take them away for you but I can't, sweetheart. But this tune keeps coming in to my head, and I realized it was for you."

Edward scrubs at the scruff that's accumulating on his face, opening his mouth as though to speak again, before shaking his head and focusing his attention back to his guitar. His fingers start to move over the strings, picking out a sweet, delicate melody that is both soothing and uplifting. The music swells, as Edward weaves love and hope and longing into his composition. It's truly the most exquisite piece of music I've ever heard, and I can't fight the tears that begin to fall. It's incomprehensible to me that he can create something of such surreal beauty, and he's done it for me.

When Edward finishes playing, he peeks up at me from under his long eyelashes; shy about having performed this piece, into which he has poured his heart and soul.

Our eyes meet, emerald green and deep brown, and, as when we first met, something transcendent passes between us. Edward's eyes spark and burn with an intensity that matches the all-consuming emotion that slams into me, leaving me breathless. The rest of the world fades away, leaving only the two of us as Edward gently, carefully, strokes my cheeks with his callused fingers. Adoration glows in his eyes as he cups my face gently, hesitating. He searches my eyes, seeking the permission I am only too willing to grant. I will deny this man nothing; he is everything.

Tenderly, his hands still framing my face, as though I were made of the most delicate crystal, he moves closer to me. My eyes flutter closed in delight and amazement as his lips brush gently across my own, once, twice, three times. Instinctively, my own hands make their way into his hair, curling my fingers through the bronze strands, and gently drawing him closer.

In this moment there is only Edward and I. I am not an abused and broken wife, he is no longer a jaded musician with a troubled past. We are Edward and Bella, and nothing else exists.

Reverently, he kisses me again, parting my lips slightly. His lips are soft and supple against my own, and his sweet kisses taste like honey and smoke and joy. The headiness of the moment makes me feel like I'm drowning in sensation, and I surrender to it gladly.

We pull back slowly, reluctantly, our breath coming in short, sharp pants. Edward rests his forehead against my own, as unwilling as I am for this moment to end.

"That should have been my first kiss," I whisper, my voice catching.

"It was," Edward promises, adoration and devotion shining in his clear green eyes. His gaze holds no fear, no regret; only faith, hope and love.

* * *

><p><strong>I thought I'd let them end on a high note for once.<strong>

**Obviously, as you all know from the prologue, this isn't going to be a simple matter of Bella and Edward running away into the sunset. However, I think the connection they share means that this moment was inevitable; the bond these two share defies their histories and their current circumstances. Rather than this being a turning point, think of it as a promise.**

**Please review, I love hearing how you feel about the way things are progressing.**

**Shell xx**

* * *

><p><strong>P.S <strong>

**If you need something to read, may I recommend you go read some of Nolebucgrl's fics? I love Amy's characterizations. _First & Ten_ has my favourite ever Emmett, and _Sideline Collision_ has an absolutely hilarious Jasper. I have finally managed to start reading _Taste of Innocence_ and I just about die laughing every time Smugward starts ranting about "racist" television shows. Frigging brilliant. Go. Read.**


	20. June 2011

**Chapter 16: June 2010**

**A/N: Stephanie Meyer owns. **

**Thanks so much for your responses to Bella and Edward's first kiss.**

**This has been the hardest chapter to write so far. Honestly, I'm utterly terrified to post it.**

* * *

><p>Edward and I leave the rehearsal venue half an hour later, each laden with a guitar, our free hands clasped and our hearts light. We wander back towards Rose and Em's slowly, in no hurry to leave the ephemeral bubble we've enclosed ourselves within.<p>

We eat a late lunch, grab some coffee, and lazily wander the streets of Seattle. Though we don't speak a lot, there is a new understanding, a hopefulness that connects us, drawing us together. We don't return to Emmett and Rose's apartment until the sun is beginning to set.

"Well, well, look who's finally home! Lassie, your phone's been ringing non-stop for the last couple of hours! Someone must really want to get in touch, aye?" exclaims Emmett when he hears us enter. He's sitting on the couch, shirtless, with a huge tub of ice-cream in his giant hands. I giggle at the sight of him and Edward snickers and rolls his eyes.

"No one will hire you to run around shirtless on camera if you keep eating that shit."

Emmett waves his middle finger in response, and Edward launches himself at his friend. I giggle as I watch them wrestle around; Emmett clearly has superior strength and a lot more mass behind him, but Edward is incredibly quick on his feet. Their banter becomes unintelligible to me, their accents thickening as they cuss each other out.

Shaking my head in amusement, I make my way into the bedroom to see who has been truing so determinedly to get in touch with me. There are two missed calls from Jacob, much earlier in the day, which surprises me – only two? That's actually a relief, most days it's been several dozen. The remainder of the calls are from Dad, who appears to have been calling every five minutes since 3pm.

I dial Dad's number as I kick my shoes off. I'm just making my way back into the lounge room when he answers.

"Izzy, thank goodness. Where have you been?"

"Uh, sorry Dad. I went out and left my phone behind."

"Oh. Well, look, honey, I don't really know how to tell you this …"

I'm immediately concerned, presuming this has something to do with either Fridays, or the charges they've laid against Jacob.

"What's going on, Dad?"

Edward looks up sharply at the change in my demeanor, his green eyes flashing with concern. Emmett senses Edward's sudden tension, leaping up from where he was trying to pin Edward to the ground. They both look at me, nervous, as I wait for dad to speak.

"Well, Izzy, it's Jacob …"

"What about him?" I snap, nerves making my patience wear thin.

"Izzy, honey, there was an accident today."

"What? What do you mean? What happened?" My hands begin to shake as anxiety sinks its claws into me.

Dad sighs heavily, "Iz, Jacob was involved in an accident at work today. He, uh, he fell from an eight story building he was working on. And, Iz, I'm sorry, baby girl, but he didn't make it."

"Didn't make it?" I repeat, stupidly.

"He's dead, honey."

Dad's voice becomes an incomprehensible buzz as my phone falls from my hand. I turn to look at Edward, and his face swims before my eyes, as white spots fill my vision. The ringing in my ears becomes deafening, and I surrender gladly to the blackness that follows.

* * *

><p>I'm in Edward's lap, I realize, looking up at him. His arms are wrapped around me gently, but his face is tense, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he grinds his teeth. His face relaxes somewhat when he sees me watching him, and he smiles slightly, his expression pained.<p>

"There you are, love."

"Did I faint?" I ask, puzzled.

Edward frowns, nodding.

Reality slams back in to me suddenly.

"Jacob's dead?" I ask, uncertain.

Edward nods grimly, jerking his head toward Emmett, who is talking to someone … on my phone. Looking over at me, Emmett murmurs into the phone again, before handing it back to me.

"Dad?" I ask, confused.

"Izzy," he exhales, relief evident in his voice.

"Are you sure, Dad?"

"Yes, honey," he says, patiently, "I spoke to some of the officers who were called to the scene."

"What happened, Dad?" I whisper.

"I haven't seen the official report, honey, but it seems he fell off some scaffolding. Sam's crew were working on an office block in Olympia. He ought to have been wearing a harness, but for some reason he either wasn't, or it failed."

"He would always say harnesses were for pussies, Dad. He hated it when Sam tried to make him wear one."

Dad swears at my revelation, and my hands begin to shake.

"D-Dad. It was an accident, right?"

"What do you mean, Izzy? We have no reason to suspect anyone pushed him."

"No, I mean, he didn't …"

"Oh. OH. No, sweetheart, no. Paul and Jared were with him up there."

I exhale a shaky breath, my mind in utter chaos.

"I'm sorry, Izzy."

"Me too, Dad."

When I hang up the phone, I continue to sit in Edward's lap, unspeaking, unmoving. I have no idea what to say, what to do. Some part of my brain tells me I should be distraught; my husband is dead. Instead, I sit, unmoving, numb.

"I should be upset, right?" I ask the boys.

Edward looks down at me his eyes soft.

"I wouldn't be at all surprised if it hasn't really sunk in, love."

Emmett nods in agreement.

"Aye lassie, it's a bit too much to take in, especially on top of everything else you've been dealing with."

Silence falls, and the three of sit, unspeaking, unmoving until Rosalie comes home a few hours later. She immediately senses something is wrong, but Emmett is off the couch and pulling her into the kitchen before she can ask what is going on.

As they disappear from my sight, I feel Edward shift underneath me, and figuring he must be uncomfortable with my weight on him, I make to move off his lap. He doesn't allow it, holding me in place. I surrender to his embrace, resting my head on his familiar chest. I expect tears to find me, but they don't come. I'm filled with shame, self-hatred and guilt. How can I be so fucking selfish that I'm actually feeling relieved that my husband is dead? Self-disgust courses through me powerfully, bile rising in my throat, and I wrench myself free of Edward's arms, sprinting for the bathroom.

Edward follows me, gently pulling my hair out of my face, as I heave and gag over the toilet. He rubs my back as I shake my head back and forth violently, desperate to escape my own mind. When it becomes clear to him that I can't even organize my thoughts sufficiently to make my way out of the bathroom, he picks me up gently and carries me to the bedroom. He pulls the covers back on the bed, and settles me underneath them.

"I need to go back to Forks," I tell him suddenly.

"I know, sweetheart, but I think you should have a rest first, okay?"

"No. I need to go to Forks, Edward."

Edward sighs, running his hands through his hair. I feel a sense of perverse satisfaction in frustrating him; I feel so disgusted with myself, it feels right that he should hate me too.

"Love, I know you want to get to Forks. But please, Bella, please try to get some rest first, okay? It's nearly 9 o'clock. You won't get back to Forks before midnight. We'll go first thing in the morning, alright, sweet girl?"

"We?" I ask, surprised.

"Well, yeah," Edward mumbles, looking suddenly nervous, "I mean Rose and Emmett would come but they don't want a media circus following them there … But, I was going to come with you … if you want me to."

"Oh."

"If you'd rather I didn't, then that's okay too," Edward adds, looking hurt.

"I don't know what I want," I mutter, suddenly exhausted.

"You can figure it out in the morning, yeah?" Edward says softly as he stands. "Try to get some rest, love."

"Wait. Where are you going?" I ask, panicking, as he begins to make his way toward the door.

"I, uh, I thought you'd want me to …" Edward trails off, one hand tugging at his hair as he gestures toward the door.

"Please don't leave me," I whisper, my self-disgust returning full-force. I know it's wrong but I can't bear the thought of being apart from Edward right now.

Edward sighs, but his expression is one of relief, rather than frustration. He kicks his shoes off and climbs under the covers with me, flicking the light off.

It's only once blackness envelops us that I cry. The tears fall silently, my body shaking as they overtake me. I cry for Jacob, for a life cut short. I cry for myself, for the life he stole from me. I cry for Edward, for the life I want with him.

* * *

><p>Edward comes with me to Forks. I fight him on it at first, because I think that I should, but then I give in, because truthfully, I can't bear the thought of being separated from him. He is unbearably patient with me as my moods swing wildly. I want him to lose his temper with me, to see that I'm a pathetic excuse for a human being, a cold-hearted bitch who is so unmoved by her husband's death. At the same time, I crave the comfort I find in his arms, the warmth that radiates from him with every thoughtful gesture, every term of endearment, every kind word.<p>

* * *

><p>When we arrive in Forks, we go straight to Dad's. I can't bring myself to go to the home Jacob and I shared, not knowing what I will find there. Dad accepts Edward's presence without question, introducing himself and shaking Edward's hand warmly. I remember that they've spoken previously over the phone during one of my many breakdowns, and I presume Edward's obvious protectiveness of me is a comfort to my Dad.<p>

We sit around Dad's kitchen table, steaming mugs of tea going largely unnoticed as Dad explains the details of Jacob's accident. According to Paul, Jacob was making his way back down the scaffolding when he slipped and fell. Dad asks me if I want to know the details of his injuries and I shake my head; knowing the details won't bring him back, and I may be pathetic and selfish, but I don't want to be haunted by the images I know such descriptions will conjure up. Eventually, I sigh, looking to my father for guidance.

"What needs to happen, Dad? I, uh, I have no idea what I need to do now."

Dad looks at the table, his brow knotting in thought.

"I'm not sure, Izzy. I mean, I don't know how much you want to handle, and what Billy wants to do."

I say nothing, anxiety bubbling away like acid in my gut. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I don't want responsibility for anything at this point. Any remaining affection I had for Jacob ebbed away in the moments he tried to shove a fistful of antidepressants down my throat. I do regret his death, deeply, I would never have wished that upon him, but I also feel completely detached from it. I had made the decision to sever him completely from my life, and I'm really not sure how to deal with the fact that a stupid, completely preventable accident, borne of his own pigheadedness, has made it a permanent and irreversible severance.

"I think at this point, honey, it's probably best to let Billy and the rest of the Black's handle the funeral arrangements. Do you know if Jacob had a will?"

"Uh, yeah, we did them about a month after we got married. Mom, of all people, pestered us about doing them, so we went and saw Jenks and had them sorted."

"Okay, well, I'll let Billy know that." Dad sighs and looks at me seriously, "I think you should probably go see Billy also, Iz."

I nod, keeping my eyes trained on the wood grain on the kitchen table.

"I know," I whisper. "I'm just scared to. I know it's pathetic, and selfish, but he's made his opinion of me pretty clear in the last few weeks, and I'm just frightened of facing him." I pause, looking from Edward to my father, "He's going to blame me."

"He can't possibly –" I cut Edward off.

"He will, Edward. He'll say that if I hadn't left, Jacob wouldn't have been distracted, and he wouldn't have slipped and fallen."

"Love, -"

"Edward, please, just stop, okay?" I stand abruptly, unable to stand the quiet sympathy and concern I see in Edward's vivid green eyes. I don't deserve either of those things.

"I'll go see Billy now. Alone." I emphasize, looking at the two men sitting in front of me. They both open their mouths to protest, but I spin on my heel and head for the front door, grabbing my bag as I go.

* * *

><p>I hold my breath as I knock on Billy's door, knowing he's not going to take my presence well. I rap three times, stepping back from the door as I hear him approaching, the wheels of his chair squeaking over the floorboards.<p>

I almost welcome the disgust and hatred that fill Billy's eyes when he sees me standing on his doorstep. I know I deserve them.

"What the fuck do you want, Isabella?"

"Nothing Billy. I just came to tell you how sorry I am."

"Sorry?" Billy snorts incredulously.

"Yes, Billy," I say softly. "Things may not have worked out between Jacob and I, but I am truly sorry for your loss."

"May not have worked out, huh? Is that what you call it? You're a filthy slut, just like your mother. I told Jacob you needed to be taken in hand, and I was right, wasn't I? I saw the pictures of you whoring around in Seattle, Isabella."

I shake my head in frustration.

"I can understand you're upset, Billy, but you couldn't be more wrong."

Billy snorts in anger.

"If Jacob had listened to me, you'd be settled down with a few children by now. Having some responsibility would have been good for you, girl. Instead, he dies tragically, while you're off screwing some fucking musician." His voice rises, and I realize suddenly just how much Jacob resembled his father.

"I'm not screwing anyone, Billy. I've never slept with anyone but Jacob, not that that is any of your business. And I'm incredibly relieved that Jacob didn't get me pregnant. I heard the two of you talking at Christmas time, and I went to get a contraceptive implant. I can not believe you would stoop so low as to suggest using a _child_ as a pawn in a game of control." I try to keep my voice level, though anger and frustration are building within me.

"You know this is all your fault, don't you, you little bitch. If you hadn't run off, he would never have been distracted enough to fall to his DEATH." Billy's black eyes flash in anger and pain, but instead of sympathy I feel furious with him.

"And I would never have run off if your son hadn't slammed me into a kitchen wall and tried to shove a handful of pills down my throat, Billy!" I snap at him in frustration. I sigh, trying to regain control of my temper.

"I doubt Jacob did anything to you that you didn't deserve."

"I believed that too, Billy, which is why I stuck around and let him treat me like dirt for so long. But then, I realized it's actually ABUSE, and it's in no way justifiable." Realizing that talking to Billy is going nowhere fast; I decide to cut my losses. I look back up into his lined face, which was once so familiar to me, but is now so hostile and cold.

"I do understand you're upset Billy, but you can't possibly blame all of this on me. Jake complained constantly about having to wear a harness; it was a stupid, preventable accident," I sigh, suddenly exhausted. "I'm sorry Billy, until I heard you telling Jacob about how he needed to _control_ me, I always considered you a second father. I came today to offer my sympathy and pay my respects. Clearly, you're never to going to listen to what I have to say, so I won't keep bothering you, okay? If you ever want to hear my side of things, you know where to find me."

Feeling completely emotionally drained, I climb back into my SUV and point it towards the sea cliffs of La Push. Though it's summer, it's overcast and drizzling as I huddle on a large rock, watching the crash of the ocean below me. This is a place I've always returned to when life overwhelms me; a place I first discovered as a homesick teenager, a few months after I moved to Forks. I stay there most of the day, staring out over the brutality of the ocean as it pounds forcefully against the cliff edge, over and over and over. Tears and salty wind sting my eyes, a punishment I welcome gladly. Feeling anything, even pain, is preferable to the numbness I feel inside.

Eventually, when the light begins to fade and a chill wind whips up around me, I take one last look at the familiar scene and head home.

There are a number of cars parked out the front of dad's house when I finally return. I sigh as I recognize them; Alice, Tanya and Angela are here. I edge my way inside nervously; unsure of the reaction I will receive from them. I find them in the kitchen; Dad and Edward are nowhere to be seen. Hearing my approach, the girls look up and I see the sympathy and pity in their expressions.

There hushed voices as the greet me set my teeth on edge. I nod mechanically, thanking them as they express their regret and sympathy for my loss. I let them fuss and express their concerns for as long as I can tolerate it. I try to accept their hugs graciously, but I take no comfort from their affection.

"Where's Dad?" I ask suddenly, unable to listen to any more of their platitudes.

"He took Edward over to your place. Edward wanted to grab you some clothes, sweetie, and he didn't think you could face going over there yourself," explains Alice. I nod, my heart swelling at his thoughtful gesture.

"Speaking of, where did you find Edward, and is he single?" probes Tanya, shaking her strawberry blonde curls over her shoulder. Angela and Alice both shoot her quelling looks, but she shrugs them off. "What? The boy is hot, and that accent is just too fucking sexy. I just want to know if I'd be wasting my time …"

I feel anger, and surprisingly, fierce jealousy, pulse through me, but before I can speak, another voice sounds from the doorway.

"I'm single," Edward says, his voice curt, "but I'm not available, and I'm not interested."

He continues into the kitchen, taking in my defensive posture with concern. He pulls me into his arms, but releases me just as quickly.

"You're soaking wet, love. And you're freezing. Come on, I've got some of your clothes." He places a gentle hand on my lower back, guiding me out of the room. He stops, looking back over his shoulder. "It's probably time you ladies went home, I think Bella's had enough for today." He turns his attention back to me, leading me to my bedroom where a washing basket full of neatly folded clothes has been set.

"I can't believe you did this," I mutter, pulling out some yoga pants and a long sleeved shirt. "Thank you, Edward. I don't think I'm ready to go over there, yet." I turn my back to him as I change out of my wet and cold clothes and into some of the things Edward has brought over. With my back turned, it's easier to ask my next question. "Is it, is it … what did the house look like?" I'm almost afraid of the answer.

Edward sighs, and as I turn to face him, he takes a seat on the bed and pulls me into his lap. He searches my eyes before he speaks.

"Uh, it looked pretty much the same, just with a bit more mess. He obviously didn't do any cleaning or washing in the two weeks you were gone. The kitchen was full of dirty dishes, and the bedroom has piles of dirty clothes everywhere."

I nod, this is pretty much what I expected, but I can tell from Edward's expression that there is something more, something that is upsetting him.

"What is it?" I whisper, touching his unshaven cheek gently.

"I dunno, Bella," he sighs. "It's like he truly didn't believe you'd actually left, yeah? There were grocery lists left on the bench, and, uh, shit … He'd left you a note for nearly each day you were gone. All the same, basically something along the lines of 'I'm sorry, but it was your fault.' And then he'd left you a list of things he wanted you to do – laundry, cleaning, grocery shopping and whatever. It just made me so fucking angry, sweetheart, seeing the delusion he was labouring under. The very idea that, after what he did to you, after putting those bruises on your body, he completely expected that you'd just come back and start following the orders he was leaving for you. It's just, it's utterly incomprehensible to me."

I say nothing, surprised at the distress and disgust pouring violently off Edward. His hands move to his hair in agitation, and I capture them in my own, rubbing gentle circles on the backs of his hands with my thumb. The contact seems to calm him some, and he sighs before continuing.

"It's just fucking with my head, love. How could he treat you like that and then continue on as though nothing had happened?"

"That's what always happened, Edward," I admit. "Every time we had a fight or I had a meltdown; the next day he'd just continue on as normal. It's probably my fault – I never stood up for myself, never insisted things change –"

"I don't ever want to hear you blame yourself for this, Bella. Look at me and hear this." I look up into Edward's jade green eyes, which flash with determination and conviction. "None of this was your fault. None of it. You did not deserve it."

I nod, though I'm unconvinced. Maybe Billy is right, if I hadn't left, Jacob would be alive. Guilt bubbles away inside me, thicker than before – was my happiness really worth more than Jacob' life? I feel sick at the very thought. What are a few bruises, when he is now dead? No longer existing. He is gone, because I was weak.

Edward frowns, perhaps seeing the guilt and self-hatred in my eyes. Pressing a kiss to my forehead, he pulls me deeper into his embrace.

"Sweet girl, believe me, please. You don't see yourself truly, but you're everything, love. Everything."

* * *

><p>When Edward and I emerge half an hour later, I'm relieved to see the girls have left. Dad and Edward insist I need to eat, so I try to force down a piece of toast and a cup of tea, despite my lack of appetite.<p>

"I, uh, I spoke to Billy, just now," Dad says, scrubbing his face in agitation.

"The funeral will be on Tuesday. He wanted me to tell you that he doesn't want a scene. He expects, and I quote 'you to act as would become a grieving wife'. He said to tell you that Edward is not welcome to attend, and that he expects you to deliver a eulogy 'that is both respectful and befitting of a young widow'".

I nod, unsurprised. It's par for the course that Billy will want to present a flawless façade to the town. He's always so concerned about how everything will reflect on him.

"You're kidding," spits Edward, his expression darkening with fury. "What, just pretend everything was fine, that the bastard wasn't abusing her? Make her play the grieving widow, pretend he wasn't a right proper fuckwit?"

"Edward-" I start, but he shakes his head and abruptly stalks out of the room.

I feel my face crumple at his rejection, and a hot tears slides down my cheek.

"Shh, Izzy, it'll be okay, honey. He's just upset with Billy, and honestly, I completely understand where he's coming from. Obviously, because of all this, no convictions will ever be recorded against Jacob, and as no one likes to speak ill of the dead, most people will never become aware of the truth of what's been happening. And Billy, of course, will take advantage of that and want to make it seem as though it was you who wronged Jacob. I'm sorry, sweetheart, I know this really isn't fair on you."

Fair on me? Do I deserve anything less? I kiss Dad on the cheek and I hurry from the room, unable to bear his quiet sympathy. I shower and dress for bed robotically, my mind blank. I climb into my childhood bed, visions of Jacob and I hanging out in here as teenagers haunting me.

I'm still so unsure about how I ought to feel about everything. Of course, I regret Jacob's death. I did love him, he was my first friend in Forks, and the love I felt for him was genuine. Though things were so sour and oppressive towards the end, lying here if Forks, I can't help but remember the good times, most of them before we married, yes, but they were good nonetheless. I'm so conflicted, and my mind jumps from thought to thought, so many mixed emotions chasing them.

The thing I keep coming back to is the relief that no one can force me back to Jake's side now. I had questioned my own ability to remain firm, worried I'd eventually cave to the pressure to return to him, to honour the vows I made when we married. I know it's cowardly and self-centered, but the fact that no one can insist on this now is a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. However, the very fact I feel that way causes guilt and self-disgust to accumulate rapidly; how can I find comfort in the death of any man? A husband, a son, a brother … he was going to be an uncle very soon … whilst everyone grieves for a life lost, I'm relieved? Self-hatred torments me and I find it impossible to sleep.

Instead, I lie awake, tossing and turning for hours, until I can bear it no more. Creeping out of my room, I make my way to the spare room where Dad has set up a bed for Edward. I knock softly, pushing open the door without waiting for a response.

Edward is still awake, sitting on the bed, his guitar in his lap. He looks exhausted, I realize, his face lined and drawn with fatigue and stress. I have brought that to his life, and guilt once again punches through me forcefully, knocking the wind out of me. When he sees me, Edward simply puts his guitar down and opens his arms to me. His selflessness is like a slap to my face, such a contrast to my own self-centeredness. Still, I gladly accept the warmth and affection he offers me, crawling into his lap, allowing him to comfort me.

"I'm so sorry Bella. It's just … it causes me physical pain to see the way Jacob and Billy have treated you. It just makes me so angry that the truth will swept under the rug because of his death. And Billy, he's just so blinded by his own ridiculous sense of self-righteousness, love. I don't know why they don't see that you're … you're everything. Bella. I love you, sweetheart," he whispers softly.

"I love you too, Edward." The admission comes easily from my lips; loving Edward is easy, natural. I just wish he meant those three little words the same way I did.

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah. Just sitting here chewing my fingernails ... If you're reading this it means I managed to work up the courage to hit 'submit'.<strong>

**Review? Please?**

**I know lots of you were hoping to see Jacob get a good arse-kicking from Edward but this is the way I'd always planned things to happen. There's no way, after the violence and brutality Jacob subjected Bella to, that Edward was going to walk down that path. Trust me?**

**Shell xx**

* * *

><p><strong>P.S. I have another two recs:<strong>

_**The Blessing and the Curse**_** by The Black Arrow, and **_**Substance Clad in Shadows**_** by hollelujah.**

**Both are sexy, dark, primal and exquisitely written.**


	21. June 7th, 2011

**Chapter 17: June 7th, 2011.**

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your lovely reviews and messages, and particularly to those lovely people who are recommending my stories. I'm completely humbled by the faith you have in my little story.**

**I don't own **_**Twilight**_**, but I do own this storyline.**

**Time to put Jacob in the ground.**

* * *

><p>Jacob's funeral is on Tuesday, June 7th. I know this only because I stand in front of the calendar, puzzled, spending a good fifteen minutes trying to work out what day it is.<p>

"Edward?" I ask, from where I stand, looking at the calendar on Dad's fridge.

"Yes, love?"

"You're not supposed to be here, are you?"

"What do you mean, Bella?"

I turn to look at him. He is sitting at the kitchen table, toying with a piece of toast.

"I mean, you're supposed to have left on your tour! You're supposed to be playing in Phoenix about now, aren't you?"

"Uh, tonight would have been Phoenix," he agrees. "But did you really think I was going to leave you, dearest? I couldn't do that."

"But you need to play those shows, Edward," I frown. "I'm grateful you're here, but you needed to play those shows so you can fund the recording."

Edward pulls himself out of his chair, and steps quickly in front of me.

"Sweet girl, I cancelled the American tour. I couldn't bear to be away from you. Emmett's helping me out with the costs of recording, okay? I don't especially like owing him money, but he insisted that I need to be here with you, darlin'."

"Edward –" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"Let me worry about where I need to be, okay, Bella? I promise, it's fine. We've shifted thing around a bit. I need to be in London by the first week of August, and then I'll be touring from September through until the end of January. But we'll worry about that later, yeah? Please, please don't worry about me today."

The reminder of today brings a return to the roiling anxiety I've been trying to ignore. Edward sees the stress return to my body and he sighs, pulling me into his embrace.

"I'm sorry I can't be there for you today, love."

"You are, Edward. Sure, you won't be there in the church, but you're here, and that's all I need."

I feel Edward press a kiss to my forehead, and I pull him close, desperate for a few more minutes in our own little world, where nothing else matters, where nothing can touch us.

"Isabella? Honey, it's time to go." I stiffen at the sound of my Dad's voice.

"Edward, I can't do this," I whisper, panic choking me.

"It will be hard, sweet girl, but you'll get through it, and I will be waiting for you when you get home."

* * *

><p>By the time Dad and I arrive at the church, my hands are shaking badly. As I climb out of the car, I straighten the simple black dress I'm wearing, fidgeting with my stockings. Dad takes my hand, and I squeeze his in return, grateful for the gesture of support. We find a seat in the front row, and I avoid looking around, not wanting to face the stares of animosity and disapproval I can expect from the Black family.<p>

I can't stop staring at the black casket carefully displayed at the front of the church. I can't wrap my head around the fact that my husband's lifeless body is inside the glossy black box. I'd absolutely refused to attend the viewing yesterday; there was no way I could cope with seeing Jacob laid out in front of me, his heart no longer beating. He isn't there, I decide, he is not there in that box. His spirit is wherever God has decided it belongs, and it is merely the shell of him that remains. I'm not particularly religious, but I decide that God is good, and seeing as He knows everything, then Jacob is wherever he deserves to be. I'm content to leave that decision in God's hands; it's actually somewhat freeing.

I hear the slight squeak of Billy's wheelchair as he approaches, and I'm forced to look at him as he greets me loudly and publicly. He pulls me down and kisses my cheek, and I cringe from away the gesture.

"You will not embarrass me today. Just read the eulogy I've prepared, and at least pretend you're sad he's gone," he hisses at me, handing me a piece of paper covered in small black type. I nod my understanding; there's no using arguing with Billy about my perceived lack of remorse. Billy nods, a saccharine smile on his face, before he wheels himself away to greet more friends and relatives as they file into the church.

Dad keeps a low commentary going, telling me who has arrived. Jacob's work colleagues make a noisy entrance; their crass behaviour unrestrained even when they're attending their friend's funeral. Dad nudges me as they approach, and I stand to thank them for coming, playing the role of grieving widow, as is expected of me. They all shake my hand, each expressing their condolences, before they file off to find a seat. Jared gives me a lewd wink before he follows after his mates, and I feel Charlie stiffen beside me as I grip his hand tighter.

Rachel Black completely ignores me, which I think I'm grateful for. She takes a seat on the other side of the church, a man I've never seen before accompanying her. Alice and Jasper greet me gently, expressing their sorrow, and their understanding that this is a hard day for me. Angela and Tanya follow them, accompanied by Lauren and Jess, and they all make a fuss about hugging me, causing me to withdraw further into myself.

When I see a heavily pregnant Rebecca Black approaching me, I feel the blood drain from my face. Guilt that her child will never know his or her uncle swells within me, and my breathing becomes shaky and laboured. Rebecca's dark eyes study me seriously as she sits down next to me. Kaikane remains standing, his face impassive as he waits for his wife to make her greetings.

"Isabella," she whispers, and I'm surprised at the lack of rancor in her voice. "Sweetie, I'm sorry, but I need to know. Was it true you'd left him?" I nod, ashamed, unable to look her in the eye. She exhales loudly, and squeezes my shoulder. "He was abusing you?" she asks gently. Startled, I look up into her wise, sorrowful black eyes. I nod again, looking away quickly.

"I'm sorry, Isabella," she whispers. "We'll talk more later, but I want you to know, I'm so, so sorry." I look up at her, puzzled and completely taken aback. She stiffens, and I follow her gaze to where Billy is watching her, his lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. "We'll talk after the service, okay?"

She heaves herself to her feet with difficulty, her swollen belly making it seem like a huge effort. Kaikane places a gentle hand on her lower back, guiding her to a seat next to her twin sister. His gentle gesture brings Edward to my mind, and I feel a pang at being apart from him today, however briefly. His quiet compassion would have made today a tiny bit more bearable.

The service is somewhat of a blur to me as we stand and sit, sing and pray. I go through the motions, my mind far away as I can't help but remember another day in the same church, not two years ago. I wore white that day, not black. I'm snapped out of my daydreams as Billy makes his way to the pulpit. He speaks briefly, reminding us all of what a fine young man Jacob was, denouncing the tragedy of a life full of such potential cut so short.

My hands start to shake as I realize it's my turn to speak. Dad walks me to the pulpit, sensing my need for support. I smooth the page in front of me, and Dad places a hand on my shoulder as I prepare to read. I look down at the paper Billy handed me, and the words swirl on the page; I can make no sense of them. Looking up into the sea of faces, I begin to panic and shake, seeing so many people staring at me expectantly. Waiting for the grieving widow to proclaim her sadness and despair at losing her wonderful husband so early in her married life. Tears begin to slip down my face, and my throat closes over as I choke on a sob.

Perhaps realizing that I'm not going to be able to speak any time soon, Dad clears his throat and steps closer to the microphone. Dad hates speaking in front of people, and a few more tears escape as I realize the stress my father will put himself through for my sake.

"I, uh. For a long time, I considered Jacob the son I never had. And then, uh, Isabella married him, and it became official. He's been part of our family for as long as I can remember, and it's with deep regret and deep sadness that Izzy and I say goodbye to him today. It's a tragedy to see a life cut so short, before he truly had the opportunity to become a man."

Dad draws himself up to his full height, his voice becoming louder and clearer as he continues to speak. "There's always the temptation to make heroes of the ones we lose too soon. Jacob wasn't perfect, and in the last few weeks of his life he did some things I'm not sure I'll ever be able to forgive. He made some truly wretched decisions, which have had a devastating impact on several young lives. However angry I may have been with him though, I take no comfort in his untimely death. It is truly regrettable, and I cannot express sufficiently the sorrow I feel at his untimely passing."

"Billy," Dad looks down at his old friend. "We've been through a hell of a lot together, and I've always considered you a brother. There are no words to express how difficult it must be to lose a child; no man should ever have to bury his son. Just a few weeks ago, I was very afraid for my daughter's life, and I know the grief it caused me. To actually lose your son …" Dad shakes his head, his face contorted with pain, "my friend, I can't even begin to imagine the pain and suffering you're enduring. I'm so very sorry for your loss."

Dad steps back, then turns to me, gently placing a hand on my shoulder. He leans in, speaking softly in my ear, "Do you want to say anything, honey? It's okay if you don't think you can manage."

I hesitate, looking out at the sea of familiar faces in front of me. Many of them are now muttering amongst themselves, probably slightly shocked by some of the things my Dad has just revealed. A flash of bronze catches my eye, and I focus, startled, on the familiar figure just inside the doorway of the church. Edward leans against the back wall of the building, unable to be seen by anyone other than Dad and myself. His presence gives me the strength to stifle the tears, take a deep breath, and step up to the microphone.

"I'm sorry Billy, I'm not going to read this," I sigh, folding up the eulogy he'd written for me to read. "I won't speak for long. I, uh, I wanted to thank you all for coming today as we celebrate Jake's life and mourn his passing. It's an incredible comfort to see you all here, to know the impact Jacob had on all of your lives. He was far too young to die, to have his life cut short before he had the chance to really live."

"Jacob was my first friend when I moved to Forks, and he was my first and only boyfriend," I smile slightly before I continue. "I won't stand here and tell you Jacob was the greatest husband a woman could wish for, and I won't pretend that our marriage was perfect. However, I truly, deeply, regret his passing. I loved Jacob as much as I knew how to; and it's utterly heart breaking to be here today, as we grieve together."

From the back of the room, I see Edward place his hand over his heart, a simple gesture of support that I cling to as tears threaten to overwhelm me. "I'm still not really sure what I believe about life after death, I've never really had to think about it until now. I don't know what views Jacob held on such things either. I do know though, that it's a terrible tragedy that we have to say goodbye today to a young man who had a lot more living and learning to do."

I sigh, closing my eyes briefly, a few tears falling despite my best efforts to still them. "I will always regret the last occasion I saw Jacob, and I'd give almost anything to have a different memory of the last time we were together. Unfortunately, I can't change that, and so I urge you all today: tell the people you love just how much they matter to you. Don't leave it, you'll never know when they're going to be ripped from your life."

I step down from the pulpit, walking over the black casket that bears Jacob's body. Placing my hand lightly on it, I whisper my final goodbyes. "Jake, I did love you. And I'm going to choose to believe that you did love me, in your own way. One day I'll be able to forgive you for what happened. Rest in peace, Jake."

As Dad helps me back to our pew, I see Edward slip back outside into the dreary Forks day, his temporary attendance going unnoticed. The comfort his presence brought me fades with his leaving, and I collapse back into my seat, silent sobs wracking my body. Dad wraps his arm around me as I cry, confused and guilt-ridden.

When the service draws to a close, I remain seated while the rest of the congregation file out of the church, making their way past the casket as they pay their final respects. I stay seated long after the last person has exited the church, unable to bring myself to move. Dad places a gentle kiss on my cheek before he leaves me, understanding I need to be alone with my thoughts.

After a few minutes, I feel someone slide into the pew beside me, and I'm surprised when a gentle, feminine hand reaches for my own. I look up into dark eyes, and delicate features that are at the same time incredibly familiar, and yet so strange to me.

"Isabella? I'm sorry to bother you, sweetheart, I'm -"

"Sarah. You're Jacob's mom."

The woman nods, looking slightly surprised.

"You look a lot like the twins," I say by way of explanation.

She smiles gently, her dark eyes soft.

"I hope it's okay I'm here, Isabella?"

"Of course it is. Jacob was your son."

Sarah smiles sadly at my words, "You're much more forgiving than my family, Isabella."

"There's nothing to forgive, Sarah. And please, call me Bella."

"Thank you, Bella."

Sarah looks at me sideways, and I can see the questions in her eyes.

"Bella … I don't mean to pry, I know it's certainly not my business and I suppose I forfeited the right to know anything about my son when I left my family all those years ago … But, both you and your father made some vague allusions … Sweetheart …" Sarah breaks off, conflict written all over her face.

"Uh. I left Jake two weeks before he passed. He, uh, well things weren't going so well, and I couldn't stay any longer. I'm sorry."

"He was abusing you?" she whispers, her voice shaking. It's not really a question; she seems to know the truth already.

I look up into her dark eyes, wondering if I should lie. How can I tell this gentle woman that her son, whom she has just lost so tragically, was such a brutal and manipulative man? Somehow, though, I can't bring myself to deny it, and I nod slowly, unable to speak as once again tears pool in my eyes, and my throat closes over.

"Oh sweetheart. I'm so, so sorry," Sarah's gentle arm wraps around my shoulders, and I'm shocked and touched by her sympathy, and the fact she so easily believes me. Her reaction is such a shocking contrast to her ex-husband's dismissal of me.

"C-can I ask you something?" I stammer, unable to look her in the eye.

"Anything, Bella."

"You didn't leave with another man, did you?"

"No," she sighs, sadness filling her eyes. "Well, I left with my brother, but no, I wasn't cheating on Billy. I haven't even been with another man in the decade since I left him. Though it doesn't surprise me in the slightest that that's what he led everyone to believe."

"He abused you?" I ask.

"At first it was just harsh words, criticisms, expectations I couldn't meet, comparisons to other women that I didn't measure up to. Then it was a nudge here, a push there. A slap when I was 'hysterical', being pushed around when I didn't respond quickly enough." I nod my understanding as Sarah continues to speak, her eyes clouded, lost in her memories. "Then it was regular beatings, just to remind me that he was in charge, that he owned me. And then, just after the twins had left for college, things got even worse. It must have been only a few months before you moved to Forks I suppose, because Charlie was already talking about you coming … Anyway, my brother dropped by one day without calling first. When I opened the door, he saw the bruises. He refused to leave without me."

Sarah looks up at me, her eyes haunted. "I fought him at first, I told him I couldn't leave whilst Jacob was still so young. The twins were off in college; they were already young women, mapping out their own lives. But my brother convinced me that Jacob would be fine; he was always the apple of his father's eye. From the time he was a toddler he could do no wrong in Billy's eyes. So I left. And I'm so sorry, Bella, because it just never occurred to me that Jacob would emulate the behaviours he learned from his father."

Tears began to trickle their way down her dark skin, and I grip her hand tightly.

"It's not your fault," I tell her.

"It's not yours either, Bella," she whispers through her soft cries.

"Do Rachel and Rebecca know?" I ask gently, and she shakes her head, ashamed.

"I didn't know for sure, but I'd started to put it together," says another soft voice, and we both look up, startled, to see Rebecca making her way towards us, one hand absently rubbing her enlarged belly. She sighs heavily as she lowers herself into the pew on the other side of her mother.

"I owe you both apologies," she mumbles, shame lining her tired features. "I'm sorry it took me so long to figure out what was going on." She looks from her mother, to myself, then back down at her hands.

"I, uh, I've over heard lots of conversations between Dad and Jacob over the years, and it's always concerned me the way they speak about women, particularly you, Bella. Even before you guys got married, all of Dad's advice was about control and keeping up appearances, and it really worried me. At first, I just assumed Dad was oversensitive because of Mom having left him. But then, each holiday that we'd come back, I'd see the way your spark had diminished, the way you seemed so downtrodden and defeated, and I started to wonder if I was missing something." She sighs again, rubbing her distended belly absently.

"When Rachel rang me a few weeks ago to tell me you'd left Jake and that charges had been laid against him, it all kind of fell into place. And I realized that maybe we'd never been told the truth about Mom, either." She looks up into her mother's eyes, into a face which so closely resembles her own, "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry I never worked it out. Please, forgive me."

Sarah wraps her arms around her daughter, and I can see that both of their bodies heaving with sobs.

"There's nothing to forgive, sweetheart. I'm so sorry I left you, I'm so sorry I missed your wedding. I'm so, so sorry."

Rebecca shakes her head, tears shining on her cheeks.

"I've missed you, Mom. So much."

"I've missed you too, Becky."

I shift in my seat uncomfortably; I feel like I'm intruding on a private moment that I have no right to witness.

"You FUCKING WHORE! How dare you show your face here?" Billy's angry voice cuts through the bittersweet reunion of mother and daughter.

We all look up, surprised and nervous. I see fear written on the faces of the two women sitting next to me, and anger swells in me. I'm suddenly furious with Billy, for the web of deceit he's been spinning for years, for teaching his son to treat women with such contempt, and for the lies that have kept a mother from her daughters for nearly a whole decade.

No doubt having heard Billy's enraged shout, Dad and Kaikane dart into the church, looking around warily. Sarah and I stand, helping Rebecca to her feet, as we turn to face an irate Billy. He storms up the centre aisle towards us, Dad and Kaikane on his heels.

"You're a lying, cheating slut, Sarah. How dare you show up here? You chose to walk out on us, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Billy-" Dad's voice is soft, but full of warning.

"Stay out of it, Charlie," Billy hisses.

"The hell I will."

"Becky," calls Kaikane, his deep voice startling Billy, who obviously didn't realize he had entered the church behind Dad, "are you okay, baby?"

Rebecca nods her head as she clings to her mother.

Billy looks from Sarah, to Rebecca, then to me, sneering.

"Fits. Whores sticking together and all that."

"Watch it, Billy," Kaikane's voice is soft, but the cautionary threat in his tome is unmistakable.

"Billy. Come on, man. Leave them be."

"Fuck off, Charlie."

Dad shakes his head before he speaks again, "Billy, seriously. I will not hesitate to have you charged with harassment if you're going to continue like this."

Billy looks between Charlie and Kaikane, disgust and fury written all over his features. However, like any bully, he is a coward at heart, so with one last look of contempt and rage, he storms back out of the church.

Dad and Kaikane exchange glances, before the big Hawaiian moves closer to his heavily pregnant wife. They murmur together, and I watch as Rebecca smiles gently, touching her husband's cheek. He ducks down to place a kiss on her forehead, and the gesture causes a pang of loneliness to run through me; I suddenly need to be wherever Edward is.

"Dad, I'm going to head home, okay?"

"I'll take you sweetheart, just give me a minute or two, okay?"

I nod, watching curiously as Dad leans down to talk to Sarah, his voice lowered in pitch so only she can hear. They talk softly for a few minutes, before smiling and shaking hands. Dad hands her a card, and she thanks him quietly. He hands another to Kaikane, and I realize suddenly, my gut clenching, that he's anticipating trouble with Billy.

"Isabella, you ready to go, honey?"

I nod at Dad, kissing Sarah, Rebecca and Kaikane on their cheeks before following him out of the church. I'm drained emotionally, but relieved to put this day behind me. Dad guides me to the car, keeping an eye on Billy who is talking to Rachel, both of them shooting us icy glares as we make our way to dad's cruiser. I sigh, relieved as I climb into the passenger seat.

Dad has no sooner pulled into the driveway than Edward is out the front door, and pulling me out of the car into his embrace. We say nothing at first, simply clinging to each other desperately. Dad smiles slightly, before clearing his throat.

"I have to get back to the station, Izzy. I'm on duty until late tonight."

"Okay, Dad."

"Edward, if Billy Black shows up here, don't speak to him, just call me straight away." Edward nods his understanding, frowning.

He takes my hand and leads me back into the house, double-checking that the front door is locked. Once inside, he bustles about the kitchen, brewing me a cup of tea and reheating us some lasagne for our lunch. Just as he sits down next to me, there is a sharp knock at the front door that has me freezing, panicked in my chair.

"Wait here, love." Edward says quietly as hurries to open the front door, his eyes wary and his posture stiff.

"Hi Edward," purrs a female voice, and I suddenly decide I'd rather it have been Billy. She clearly isn't going to give up. I can't believe the audacity of the woman, coming here whilst she assumes I'm still at my late husband's funeral. Coldness creeps into my heart; I have no real claim over Edward, and maybe _she_ is what he wants, needs. She is incredibly attractive, I suppose, and she's far more confident and assertive than I am …

"Uh, hi, Taylor, isn't it?"

Just as quickly, I relax, smirking to myself.

"Tanya," she corrects.

"Right."

There is a long silence and I can imagine Edward raising one eyebrow at her lack of response.

"Can I come in?" she tries again, her voice breathy.

"No. Sorry, Tonya. It's not a good time."

"Well, perhaps you can give me your number, and we can figure out when _would_ be good," she says, her voice sounding both suggestive and slightly confused, as though she can't quite believe Edward has just turned her down.

"Uh, no, that's okay. Look, I want to get back to Bella, Tahlia. Have a good afternoon, yeah?" Without waiting for a response, Edward closes the door, sighing heavily.

"Bloody hell," he sighs, "that woman is a proper slag."

He slumps back into his seat beside me, his hands going straight to his hair. I reach for one of his hands, prying it free of his bronze locks, and twining his fingers with his own. He looks up at me, his green eyes filled with concern.

"Love, what happened with Billy that has your Dad so worried?"

I grip his fingers tighter as I explain to him my conversations with Sarah and then Rebecca, as well as the conflict with Billy.

"Edward, I forgot to say, thank you for being there today. Seeing you there, having your support, it's the only thing that got me through."

Edward pulls me out of my chair and on to his lap, placing yet another gentle kiss on my forehead.

"Anything for you, sweet girl. Anything."

* * *

><p><strong>So, the funeral. Thoughts? <strong>

**I wanted Charlie and Bella to be able to acknowledge the abuse, but maintain their dignity at the funeral. I hope that came across.**

**Did Sarah and Rebecca's contribution clear some things up?**


	22. JuneAugust 2011

**Chapter 18: June - August 2011**

**A/N: Thank you for all your lovely reviews. **

**I don't own Twilight.**

* * *

><p>Edward and I stay in Forks for close to a month after Jacob's funeral.<p>

It's an incredibly difficult few weeks.

Lawyers.

Wills.

Life insurance claims.

I decide to sell our house.

I think I'll move to Seattle.

I quit my job, officially.

I'm severing ties with this town.

* * *

><p>Packing up all my things, and deciding what to do with everything of Jacob's is incredibly difficult. In the end, I donate nearly everything to charity, unable to bear keeping so many reminders with me. I take a few things over to Billy's, photo albums and the like, and leave them on his doorstep. He hasn't attempted to speak to me since the funeral, and for that I am thankful.<p>

Rebecca gives birth to a little girl, Noa, two weeks after Jacob's death. My heart warms when I hear that Sarah has been visiting with them, delighting in her role as adoring grandmother.

When I find a buyer for the house that Jacob and I spent our married life in, Edward and I say our farewells to Dad and head back to Seattle, where I have purchased a small flat. The life insurance policies Jacob had taken out have provided me with the opportunity to start over. I'm not sure how I feel about this. Quite often I feel burdened with guilt over the fact that my life is looking up, that I get to start things over, and all at the expense of my husband's life.

Edward is a constant through the madness of these first weeks after Jacob's death. He is a continual source of comfort, a shoulder to cry on, a friend to laugh with. We have our disagreements, but we learn to never leave them unresolved. We snap at each other when we are tired or anxious, but we learn to forgive each other, to accept that neither of us is perfect, and that sometimes we say and do things that we'll later regret. We never revisit that first, perfect kiss, though there is an unspoken promise that binds us together.

The tiny, one bedroom flat I've purchased in Seattle becomes our home, and though my nightmares mean that we share a bed more often than not, Edward is technically crashing on my couch. Our relationship is perhaps unconventional, confusing to the outsider, but thus far, it works for us.

Despite the holding pattern our relationship has stalled into, _I_ revisit that kiss over and over in my mind, in my dreams, in my fantasies. I can remember all too clearly the feel of Edward's mouth pressing so gently against my own, the sweet taste of his lips, the feel of his callused fingertips reverently tracing my cheeks, and the burning intensity of his gaze. My disobedient mind continues to wander further, my body aching in unfamiliar ways, as I long to feel once more the sweetness of Edward's lips on my own, to feel those callused fingers running all over me, caressing me gently. Those rare nights that I'm not plagued by nightmares, my dreams take on an erotic tone, and I frequently wake breathless and gasping, desperately craving Edward's touch.

* * *

><p>As July marches on, time unrelenting, a sense of panic begins to build in my chest. Edward disappears three times a week to rehearse with Riley, Demetri and Jane as they prepare to record his new album. He's due to fly to London on the last day of the month, and I can virtually feel the time ticking away. He'll be gone for close to six months, a span of time that seems virtually insurmountable to me. I must drive Edward crazy as my moods vacillate. I alternate between distancing myself from him, in the hope it will make separating easier, and then clinging to him fiercely, driven by a need I can't even explain to myself.<p>

* * *

><p>Early in July, I fill out all the documentation required to have my name legally restored to Isabella Swan. When I receive the letter, a few weeks later, that confirms that I am no longer Isabella Black, I sit at the kitchen table, staring at the neatly typed words, trying to comprehend that that chapter of my life has essentially closed. Edward returns from rehearsals and finds me, unmoving; staring at the few lines of type that I hoped would bring me closure.<p>

"Sweetheart, what's going on? Are you okay?" His brows crease with concern as I wordlessly hand him the document.

"You had your name changed back to Swan?" he asks in surprise.

"I, uh, I thought, hoped, it would give me closure."

"You didn't tell me you were thinking about it."

"I kind of made a spur of the moment decision last time I met with Jenks. He, uh, he took care of most of it for me," I shrug. "I thought, maybe it would help me stop defining myself on Jacob's terms."

"What do you mean, love?"

"Um," I frown, trying to find the words I need to express myself in a way Edward might understand. "I guess, most days, I still find myself slipping back into old patterns of thought, you know? I still see myself as his wife, and I hate the control he can still exert over me."

Edward takes a seat at the table, and I reach for his hand automatically. He gives me a small smile as he twines his fingers with mine.

"I'm not sure I understand, love. You still feel controlled by him?"

"It's many years of habit that are really hard to overcome, I guess. It's taken me weeks to realize I can put music on in the kitchen, without worrying he'll come stomping in to turn it off. I still get really nervous when Alice calls, because I'm so used to him giving me grief about my friendship with her. I still can't look at myself in the mirror without seeing all the flaws he made certain I was aware of. If I drop something, or break something, I still get incredibly stressed, even though, rationally, I know he's not around to start yelling at me for being clumsy and careless. That probably sounds stupid, but I don't really know how to explain it. I'm sorry, I know it's pathetic." I mumble, dropping my eyes back down to the table.

"It's not pathetic, sweetheart," Edward says gently, his voice kind. "It's not surprising that all those habits, and the expectations you have of yourself, will take time to change. Unfortunately, Jacob shaped the way you view a lot of things, and basically trained you to revolve your life around him. Now that he's gone, of course it's going to take you time to figure out how to reshape your life. You've spent so much of your life trying to do everything in your power to keep him happy, it wouldn't surprise me if you don't remember what it is that makes _you_ happy."

I frown, I know what makes me happy … Or do I?

Edward's right, I realize. I have no clue as to what makes me happy anymore. For so long, I'd been content to just get through a day without being screamed at, I considered it a huge achievement if I managed to get through a day without bursting into tears. Now, now that I'm free to seek out my own happiness … I wouldn't have a clue where to start.

"Isabella Swan." Edward says softly, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he studies the letter I handed him. "Bella Swan."

"I like that," I admit. "Bella Swan."

* * *

><p>Edward decides to make it his personal mission to help me find out what makes me happy, what I enjoy. We spend the days he's not rehearsing out and about in Seattle, or traveling down to Portland. We visit art galleries, libraries, watch movies, drink coffee, go wine-tasting, see live music; anything Edward can think of to help inspire me. He seems determined to do this by engaging all my senses.<p>

He returns from rehearsals late one evening, carrying his guitar and a bag that looks like it's come from a boutique store. I'm curious, but I know better than to ask - … As soon as that thought flashes through my brain, I feel myself curl inwards again. Edward isn't Jacob, I remind myself; he doesn't mind my curiosity, he encourages it even.

Edward grins at me as he places the bag in front of me. I raise an eyebrow at him, surprised.

"For you," he winks, and I can't help but grin in return. Spontaneous gifts are definitely not something I'm accustomed to.

I open the bag excitedly, smiling delightedly when I pull out two gorgeous leather-bound journals. I cock my head at Edward, surprised at his thoughtfulness. He chuckles, stooping to press a kiss to the usual spot.

"Did you think I haven't noticed the random phrases and words you've been scrawling all over pretty much every surface, sweetheart? You're as bad as me! I thought this way you might be able to find some continuity, string some sentences together, yeah?"

I blush at his cheeky smirk; I _have_ been scribbling down phrases, sequences of words that strike me from time to time. And I _didn't_ think Edward would notice, because once again, Jake wouldn't have.

Within a week, both journals are full of my messy scrawl. I feel as though something's been uncapped within me, and now that I've started, I just can't stop. The words flow like a torrent; there are times when I wake in the middle of the night and start writing, having been prompted by a fragment of a dream. Edward convinces me to let him read a few passages, and he looks at me wide eyed after flipping through a few pages.

"Sweetheart, why don't you take a few writing courses? This is clearly something you are passionate about, and, love, you're incredibly gifted."

I shrug, blush and dissemble, but Edward doesn't give up. His genuine praise eventually wins me over, and I enroll in a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing at the University of Washington. Though I missed a few deadlines, I'm given a bit of leeway because of the recent events of my life, and I'm due to start in September.

It's actually a relief, knowing I'll have something to occupy me when Edward is touring. Dread creeps over me again as I realize it won't be long before he leaves me for six months.

* * *

><p>On a whim, I dye my hair a vibrant red one afternoon whilst Edward is running an errand. I'm feeling slightly apprehensive, and quite self-conscious, as I open the door for him when he returns home.<p>

"Wow!" he exclaims from the doorway, stopping in his tracks upon catching sight of me.

I smile nervously. This is the kind of thing that would piss Jacob off, and I'm not quite sure how Edward will respond.

"That looks hot, sweetheart," he rasps, his voice husky.

"Uh, thanks," I mumble, colour flooding my cheeks. I suspect my face now matches the shade of my hair. "It's just a rinse, so it will only last a week or two, but I thought it would be fun."

"Very fun. I love it." Edward winks at me and I can't help but giggle. He pulls me into his arms suddenly, a smile twisting his full lips. "You don't know how wonderful it is to hear you laughing, love."

Embarrassed, I hide my face in his chest, reveling in the scent of him; musk and spice, smoke and man.

"Bella, can I ask you something?"

I nod against his chest. "Anything. You know that."

"Maybe it's 'cause I'm a bloke I don't understand, yeah? But you're pretty quiet, love, I know you don't like to draw attention to yourself. So, what made you choose such a vibrant shade to colour your hair with? Don't get me wrong, I think it looks brilliant, I'm just curious."

"No, that's okay," I look up at Edward, trying to formulate an answer. "Do you only play your guitar when you're on stage, performing?"

He cocks his head at me as he looks down at me thoughtfully.

"No. I play all the time, mostly for myself."

I nod, "And when you write songs, are they for you, or for your audience?"

"I don't perform more than half of the songs I've written, because they're too personal. It's just who I am; performing, making a career from it, that's basically incidental." Edward shrugs, and I can see realization starting to light his eyes.

"I think it's similar, maybe," I smile. "I can't express myself musically, and I can't draw or paint. I can express myself through words, through my writing, but I also do it visually. Well, I used to. For years I sewed most of my own clothes, not out of practicality or thriftiness, but as a creative expression. It's the same with my hair; I've always coloured it; it's been blonde, red, black, purple, and multiple shades of brown. I tend to stick to more natural colours now, but occasionally …" I shrug, wondering if I'm making any sense.

Edward continues to look down at me thoughtfully, keeping me enclosed in his embrace.

"That makes sense," he nods. I grin, relieved he understands; it's an argument I had over and over with Jacob, who thought my constantly changing the colour of my hair was attention-seeking behaviour. "So what does red represent?" he asks, a cheeky smile playing upon his lips.

"I never said it was symbolic," I laugh, smacking his bicep playfully. "It's not anything that deep; I just like colour."

Laughing, Edward hoists me over his shoulder, chuckling as I flail around, smacking his back, whilst he carries me into the kitchen. He deposits me into a chair at the table, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of my head and twirl a lock of my now bright red hair around his fingers. He studies it for a moment, before he grins and winks at me.

"Tea, love?"

* * *

><p>"<em>You're a psycho, Isabella."<em>

"_Lazy and self-indulgent … selfish … useless …"_

"_No one could love you, Isabella."_

"_You're pathetic, Isabella."_

"_You're a whore, Isabella."_

"_You're nothing, Isabella."_

"_Nothing."_

"_Nothing."_

"Bella! Bella! Love, wake up, please, wake up."

I sit up, wrenched out of unconsciousness by the panic in Edward's voice.

I'm trembling, shaking, drenched in sweat.

Edward breathes a sigh of relief, lying back against the pillows as he realizes I'm awake. I realize he's flicked the bedside lamp on, and I take in the dark circles under his eyes. It's the fifth consecutive night that my nightmares have woken us both.

"I'm sorry," I choke out, my voice hoarse.

"You were screaming, sweet girl," he whispers, gently brushing the hair out of my face. His thumbs wipe the wetness from my cheeks. "And you were crying."

"I'm sorry," I mumble again, ashamed of my weakness.

Edward pulls me close, cradling me against his chest. We've given up all pretense of him sleeping on the couch; he has ended up in my bed more often than not, and he finally confessed that he sleeps easier by my side, knowing he can reach me faster when I'm being tormented by nightmares.

"Are you going to tell me about it tonight, dearest?"

The same dream has been tormenting me for weeks now, and I've so far refused to tell Edward about it. I sigh, wanting to tell him, if only to release the hold this particular dream has over me. But I'm also filled with shame and guilt, and fear that it will prove to be prophetic.

Edward tilts my face up, tipping my head back against his chest. His green eyes are soft and warm, and for a moment I lose myself in the intensity of his gaze. His lips move toward me, and my breath catches, but his kiss lands in the usual place, on my forehead, and I can't help but feel disappointed. Edward sees something in my expression and frowns slightly.

"Will you tell me what's tormenting you, sweetheart?"

I burrow my face into his chest, unable to maintain eye contact as I acquiesce.

"I just keep having the same dream over and over. All the things Jacob used to say to me, about how pathetic and useless and lazy and selfish I was. How I was nothing. But in my dream, it's not Jacob saying them any more... " I break off, unable to finish.

"Bella, who says those things in your dream?"

I shake my head, refusing to look at him.

"Sweet girl, look at me, please."

Tentatively, I turn my face upwards and meet Edward's eyes. Even in the low light his green eyes are bright, intense as they capture my gaze.

"Love, we've always been honest with each other. I'm not going to be upset with you, okay, sweet girl?"

"You, Edward. It was you saying those things in my dream."

Edward watches me carefully, waiting until I give him my full attention before he speaks.

"Bella, listen to me, dearest. You are beautiful, unique, amazing. Don't shake your head at me, Bella. You know I will only ever speak the truth to you, yeah?" I nod reluctantly. "Then you know, darlin', that I'm not lying. You are not pathetic, or lazy, or useless. You are the most amazing creature I have ever known: you are selfless, generous, kind, compassionate, loving. You are beautiful, not just physically, though you are that too, but your mind, your heart, and your soul are truly beautiful. Bella, love, you are not nothing. To me, sweet girl, you are everything."

Tears streak down my face at the fervor in Edward's words.

"I love you, Edward," I whisper.

"Love you too, precious girl."

Edward gently lowers me back on to the pillows, the intensity still blazing in his eyes as he looms over me. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and my heart skips a beat. I desperately want to pull him to myself, to consume him, show him with my body what I feel in my heart, what I'm too scared to express verbally. I watch the conflict rage in Edward's grass-green eyes, and he tenses suddenly. He places his kiss on my forehead, then drops one on each of my eyelids, before he presses a sweet, but oh so brief, kiss to my lips. I can't help the whimper that escapes as he pulls away. Edward groans lowly, pressing his forehead to my shoulder.

"It's too soon, Bella. I want it too, believe me, but it's too soon."

Even though I know he's right, I can't help but feel the sting of rejection. Never before have I felt so willing to offer myself to another, and to be turned away causes a fracture in my heart and my self-belief. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Edward loves me. But maybe his love is more on the platonic level, maybe he's not interested in me _that_ way. I turn my face away, a bitter tear sliding down my cheek.

"Edward?"

"Sweetheart?"

"Will you play my lullaby?"

Wordlessly, Edward clambers out of bed, leaving the room to return only moments later, guitar in hand. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, reaching over to gently brush away that hair that is falling in to my face.

"Don't doubt me, Bella. Please, believe me when I say I want it, I want you." he whispers. "It's just not our time yet, love."

Before I have the opportunity to puzzle over what he means, he begins to play my lullaby, his fingers dancing over the strings of his guitar. As the gentle melody swells over me, fresh tears begin to fall. I allow them to wash the guilt and self-doubt away, for now, and I revel in the exquisite music Edward has composed.

When Edward finishes playing, he sets the guitar down gently and climbs back into bed.

"Thank you," I whisper, as he encircles my body with his arms, drawing me against his own hard form. I allow myself to relax against him, allow myself to enjoy the safety and warmth of his embrace.

"You're welcome," is his whispered response.

* * *

><p>Now that I'm living in Seattle, although Dr Denali suggests I see one of his colleagues closer to my new home, I choose to continue to travel back to Port Angeles once a week for an appointment. With the chaos and change the last few months have brought, I just can't bring myself to try and establish a new relationship with a new psychiatrist. I don't want to have to revisit the pathetic story of my life again; I'd rather travel the three hours each way, than have to start from scratch.<p>

In late July, I return home from my Monday morning appointment in the early afternoon, lunch in hand. I left Edward sleeping this morning, and I'm eager to spend some time with him. I'm surprised at the quiet inside the apartment when I let myself in. Edward _always_ has music playing, and if he doesn't, it means he's got his guitar in his lap. The living room and kitchen are empty; there is no sign of my beautiful British friend.

I frown as I wander through the tiny apartment, concerned. When we discussed my appointment last night, he specifically said he'd be home when I got back from Port Angeles.

"Edward?" There is no response, and a tremor of fear creeps down my spine.

"Edward?"

I push open the bedroom door quietly, wondering if he decided take another nap. Although he slept in this morning, neither of us has been sleeping well at night.

The scene that greets me causes my heart to clench painfully. Edward sits on the floor; his knees drawn up to his chest, his head in is hands. His body tenses when he hears me enter, and as he looks up, I can see that his face is streaked with tears, his eyes red-rimmed.

"Bad day?" I whisper, filled with compassion for the suffering I see written across his face.

He nods, looking at his feet.

I know from previous conversations, both with Edward and Rosalie, that this is how Edward's depression often manifests itself. He is incredibly resilient, but on occasion, particularly when he's under a lot of emotional stress, it's almost as though he completely shuts down. I've never seen him like this and it rents my heat to see him looking so lost and broken.

Wanting to do something, anything, to help ease the pain I see him enduring, I sit down beside him, gently taking his hand in my own.

"Why don't you have a nap, hun?" I offer.

Edward looks up at me, his green eyes weary and pleading. I gently stroke his cheek, the familiar roughness scratching the soft skin of my fingers.

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

Edward nods, for a moment looking like a lost and frightened child. I smile softly at him as I stand up and extend my hand to him. He ignores it, pulling himself to his feet with effort, and stumbling the few meters to the bed. He collapses into it wearily, before reaching out to pull me down with him. My arms go around him automatically, and our legs tangle; there is a desperation that I don't quite understand underlying the way Edward pulls me into his embrace.

Looking closely at Edward's face, I wipe away the new tears that have started to fall, offering him quiet words of comfort. Eventually, he relaxes under the gentle movement of my hand as it traces over his face, his shoulders and arms, falling into a quiet sleep. I continue to watch him as he sleeps, concerned for his well-being, wishing I could take his pain away and bear it for him.

Realization slices through me like a knife: it is on my account that he is under so much strain. Not only is he struggling with the pressure he is exerting on himself to have his songs perfected for the new album, there is also the lengthy tour looming. And on top of that, there is the chaos and confusion and emotional upheaval that I have brought to his life. The guilt weighs on me heavily, and I idly wonder if it's possible to literally drown in guilt, as suffocated by it as I feel.

Edward stays in bed until early evening; after sleeping for several hours he seems closer to his usual self. By nightfall he is smiling, his guitar on his lap, tunes flowing freely from his fingertips.

"Bella?"

"Mmm," I look up from the page I am currently scrawling a story idea across.

"Thank you, love. You gave me exactly what I needed today."

I frown at his thanks, for I fear I am also the cause of his episode.

"Look at me, love." I acquiesce, looking up into his green eyes. "I can see what you're doing, Bella. Please, please don't blame yourself for my illness. It happens. I have days like this; you aren't to blame, so please, don't take on that burden. You gave me exactly what I needed today, okay, love?"

Unable to articulate a response, I settle for pushing his guitar out of his lap and replacing it with myself. Edward's hands go automatically to my hair, which has faded back to a deep brown, the red washing away over the last week or so. Edward gently tucks it behind my ear as his lips seek out my forehead. We sit, entangled, drawing comfort from each other.

* * *

><p>It happens that all too quickly, I am standing in front of Edward in a busy airport, preparing to farewell him for the next six months. My hands shake, and I've been on the verge of tears all day. Edward holds me close, and I wonder if he too feels the sheer terror and despair I'm consumed with at the thought of being apart for such a lengthy period of time.<p>

When his flight is called, I start to hyperventilate. He can't go. I can't be without him. Edward's green eyes are full of anguish and concern as he looks down at me.

"Bella, love -"

"No." I shake my head, panic constricting my chest. "No, please."

"Sweet girl, you're breaking my heart."

"Ed-Edward, please."

Edward's eyes fill with tears as he gazes down at me. Choking back a sob, his arms wrap around me with a fierceness that catches me off guard. I throw myself into his embrace, clinging to him desperately. We both tremble violently as we clutch each other tightly, great, heaving sobs wracking our bodies. There's an urgency, an anxiousness in our farewell, and I'm overwhelmed by the need to crawl into him, to be absorbed by him.

Edward pulls back so he can see my face, and everything I feel, I see mirrored back to me on his face: love, longing, hope, desire, desperation, fear. Indecision flits across his face before I see the resolve crystallize in his expression. Gently, but hungrily, he pulls my face close to his own, crashing his lips down upon my mine. This is not a sweet kiss of promise; this is a declaration of need. It is urgent, desperate, passionate and bittersweet. Lips collide and tongues tangle, and I gasp into his mouth, responding to his forcefulness in kind.

I have never been kissed like this. Edward is not gentle as he continues to declare with his kiss all the things that cannot be yet said. We pull apart, both panting as we pull in deep lungfuls of air. I'm dizzy, my head spinning, the burn in my lungs almost painful. Edward's chest rises and falls frantically as he struggles to regain his breath.

"Bella, love. I … I love you. More than I can say. I don't know if I can do this. I can't. I need to be with you."

I reach up to cup his beautiful face in my hands, his scruffy cheeks tickling my palms.

"I love you too, Edward. We've waited this long, we can wait six months." I whisper gently. Ironically, it is now me convincing him that he must go, where only a few moments ago, I was close to begging him not to leave me.

I pull his face back down to mine, and our lips meet once again. This kiss is sweet, tender, and full of promise. Our lips move gently together, lingering sweetly as we exchange both breath and vow.

When Edward's flight is called again, we finally break apart, and Edward touches his forehead to mine, his eyes closed, his breathing slow and heavy.

"I love you," he repeats.

"I love you, too." I promise.

I smile gently, placing my hand over his pounding heart. Edward takes my hand, and, pulling my sleeve out of the way, presses his lips to the tattoo inside my wrist, the one that matches the ink over his heart.

"I'll come back to you," he vows.

As he makes his way to board the plane, I run as fast as I can in the opposite direction, unable to stand and watch him walk away from me. I'm not sure I'll survive six months without the light of his presence shining in my life.

* * *

><p><strong>So, you know from the prologue that we've got Edward on the road for nearly six months now, and then six weeks from when he arrives back in the US until he starts trying to break down Bella's door. I'm not going to drag it out, okay? I just can't.<strong>

**Review for me, please?**


	23. August 2011  March 2012

**Chapter 19: August 2011 – March 2012**

**A/N: A quick note, because I don't know how to include this info in the story without boring you all.**

**Billy Black. Abusive husband. Wheelchair-bound? Trust me, I did think through this. Here's how I see it: There's a ten-year gap between when Sarah Black left him and Jacob's funeral. Billy is in a wheelchair due to complications with diabetes, which resulted in nerve damage. I'd assume this happened sometime AFTER Sarah left him.**

* * *

><p><strong>Alrighty, then. <strong>

**Short chapter, big span of time. **

**Six Months.**

**Plus a few more weeks. **

**Bella and Guilt become reacquainted.**

**Chapter song: **_**Big Eyes**_**, Matt Corby.**

* * *

><p>Six months.<p>

One hundred and eighty-four days.

I'm not going survive.

* * *

><p>The first month Edward is away passes with relative ease. We Skype most days, and Edward even sets his laptop up in the studio every now and then so I can watch him at work. The material he's recording is stunning; there's a greater maturity in his lyricism, which gives his songs a new intensity. His raw, powerful poetry is still the focus, and Edward has honed his craft skillfully. There is a new, potent, depth of emotion contained in his vocals, which is undergirded and supported by his exquisitely arranged melodies.<p>

Edward's absence from my bed is difficult, plagued as I am by nightmares. Jacob and Edward continue to haunt my dreams, reminding me over and over and over that I am nothing. Fortunately, those early hours of the morning in which bad dreams thrive correspond with the middle of the day in London, so reaching for the phone in panic and despair almost always enables me to reach Edward's soothing voice. Frequently, he sings me back to sleep, his voice drifting across the 5000 miles that separate us and cocooning me in warmth and safety.

Rosalie comes to stay for the last week of August, whilst Emmett is away in New York shooting a few advertisements. Unfortunately, her presence brings with it two quite tenacious photographers who hang out in the doorway of my building for hours on end. I don't know whether they publish any articles or photographs; presumably I'm now being touted as Rose's lesbian lover or some other utter nonsense.

In September, I find myself back on a university campus. I find my nervousness is allayed as I become reacquainted with the campus, and as I settle into a routine. The sheer exhaustion I feel from having to meet new people, find my way around a city I haven't lived in for several years, and keep on top of coursework, means that for several weeks I crawl into bed at the end of the day and collapse into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

Once Edward's tour starts; he's hoping from one European city to the next, performing, then getting straight back on the road. Opportunities to talk via Skype dwindle, and we're reduced to snatches of phone conversations and abbreviated text messages. I miss Edward fiercely, but I'm determined not to make things harder for him by complaining. Instead, in the few moments we manage to chat, I present to him a cheerful countenance, talking enthusiastically about whatever piece of writing I'm occupied with at the time, listening to his excited tales about his travels through so many amazing, historical cities.

Eight weeks after he leaves, there is a brisk knock at the door, and I find a courier holding a small square package addressed to me. I'm ripping through the packaging as I swing closed the door, revealing, as I anticipated, a copy of Edward's first studio album. On the inside cover is a handwritten dedication, and I smile as I read his loopy scrawl "For B, who is my life, light and love. E xo". At first, I assume he's autographed it for me, but I'm sobered as I realize it's not been written on in ink. His dedication is part of the album artwork, his declaration for the whole world to see. My heart swells with love for my amazing British boy, and when I put the album on to play, I am once again utterly blown away by his breathtaking talent. Pride, joy and love bubble through me, as I'm yet again struck with awe at Edward's powerful imagery, his honey, smoke and grit vocals, and the depth of feeling he is able to express through his music.

* * *

><p>September 13.<p>

I spend my 25th birthday alone.

I'm not sure Edward and I have ever discussed our birthdays. I don't know when his is.

Mom calls a day early – it's my birthday already in Australia. She's concerned by my lifelessness but doesn't push.

Dad calls and we chat about nothing for a while. He's lonely too. He lost his life-long best friend because of me.

Billy sends me a text message, just to remind me that I'm alive and another year older, while Jacob lies under the earth in Forks cemetery, his young life stolen away prematurely.

In the early evening, a deliveryman appears with an enormous bunch of colourful roses: there must be close to fifty in the arrangement, all shades of white, pink, yellow and orange. Apparently, Edward does know when my birthday is. And he gifts me with the only smile I have managed today.

* * *

><p>Alice and Angela drive out to visit me for a weekend in early October. Unfortunately, they bring Jessica and Tanya with them. Alice pulls me aside and apologizes for Tanya's presence, apparently she insisted on coming when she overheard Ange and Allie talking about making the trip. I shrug, making my way into my kitchen to find a bottle of wine.<p>

We take a seat in my lounge room as I pour four glasses of an Oregon Pinot Noir that Edward and I had purchased at the cellar door on one of his little "What makes Bella happy?" excursions.

"So Izzy. I hear you're back at school?" ask Angela, her voice soft and gentle.

"Yeah, I'm doing my MFA in creative writing at UDub."

"That must be nice," simpers Jessica.

"I'm enjoying the coursework, I guess," I shrug, nonplussed.

"You're so lucky you have that luxury, Izzy. You're back studying, not having to work at all. Life must be so easy for you these days," Jess sighs. I blink at her, incredulous. I buried my husband only months ago, after several years of emotional abuse; she thinks my life is easy?

Angela engages me in conversation about the different styles of writing I've been experimenting with in my classes, as Alice, Jess and Tanya explore my new home. Admittedly, it's a small apartment, so they've seen it all within a few minutes.

"This is a nice little place you've got here, Iz," smiles Alice. "I love these photos." She indicates the series of three large black and white photographs that adorn the wall between the kitchen and living room.

The first is of Renée and Phil, laughing at the camera on their wedding day. The second is one of Charlie and I, a photograph Edward took the last week we were in Forks. It's not a typical, posed, 'happy family' photo; rather, we are seated at the kitchen table, our hands clasped across it, deep in conversation. And the third, my favourite, is Edward, hunched over his guitar, fingers in motion, his eyes closed, clearly lost in the music he is playing. Together, they make an incongruous set, but to me, their link is clear: these are the people who matter the most to me, and each photograph is taken of them in their element. Renée in her riotous laughter; Charlie, fierce, protective, steadfast; and Edward, captivated, transported by the melodies his fingers create.

"No wedding photos?" asks Tanya, her voice full of false surprise.

I shake my head, watching her warily as she continues to circle around my living room like a shark scenting blood; examining the home, the refuge, I have built for myself.

"Yeah, this place is really cute," she decides. "Jacob's life insurance must've come in handy, I guess."

I look at her blankly, unable to formulate a response. It has taken Tanya all of three seconds to tap into the wellspring of guilt I've been working so hard to seal over.

"Tanya –" Alice's voice is full of warning, but Tanya ignores her, flipping those luxuriant strawberry blonde curls over she shoulder.

"Only one bedroom?" she giggles indicating the door before she pokes her head in to investigate. "Ooh, a king-sized bed … That's wishful thinking, Isabella. Speaking of which: where is dear Edward?"

"Paris," I manage to reply, my throat closing over as Tanya chuckles softly.

"Ah, the city of love," she drawls throatily. "A man that fine isn't going to be lonely over there, if you know what I mean." She winks at me, the gesture like a knife to my pounding heart.

"Alright, girls," Jess speaks up suddenly clapping her hands, changing the subject before Alice and Angela can utter the reprimands forming on their lips. "Let's find a nightclub and some hot bodies."

* * *

><p>That night, my tormented dreams begin again, though they move to a new location. In my sleep, I am forced to relive my wedding day over and over and over again. My subconscious drags me down the aisle of the tiny church in Forks, suffocating me in the white dress that billows around me. Jacob, menacing and sneering awaits me at the altar, his tuxedo stained with blood.<p>

"_You promised," he laughs. "You promised me forever, then you ran away to him. You're a whore Isabella."_

"_You're mine, Iz. Mine."_

"_No one else could want you, Izzy."_

"_He'll find someone else; you'll always be mine."_

Ripped from my sleep, I race for the bathroom, heaving and gasping as the bile sears my throat. Guilt consumes me taunting me cruelly: how could I have moved on so quickly? Fuck, I kissed Edward whilst I was still married to Jake. A new thought slams into my consciousness, causing me to lean over the toilet bowl again, retching violently. It suddenly occurs to me that essentially, the very moment Edward's lips met mine, Jacob fell to his death.

All these weeks I have treasured that kiss, storing it up as a sign, a promise, a vow that Edward and I have a future. And yet, at almost the very moment it occurred, Jacob's life was ripped away. The happiest moment of my life occurred at the same time as Jacob's life was wrenched from him. Guilt eats away at me like a strong acid. If I hadn't left Jacob, he might never have fallen. If I hadn't wanted so desperately a way to escape him, if I'd stayed, if I'd loved him as I promised to, maybe if I'd just talked to him … Ifs and buts whirl in my mind, a loud and incessant buzz that threatens to plunge me into madness.

Alice's tiny frame appears, apparently my sobbing and vomiting has not gone unnoticed. Though Jess, Tanya and Ange decided to sleep at a hotel, Alice insisted my couch suited her just fine. She cajoles me through cleaning my teeth, and crawling back into bed. She offers to call Edward for me, but I refuse, my guilt making the thought of speaking to him seem unbearable. If I talk to him, I know he will comfort me, and I do not deserve that.

Night after night the same dream torments me, my guilt wreaking havoc in my subconscious. My dream self fights harder and harder with each passing night, but over and over again, I'm marched down the aisle into Jacob's waiting grasp. Eventually, my dream self stops fighting, walking docilely to my fate, acquiescent and obedient.

* * *

><p>Sleep, once the gentle oblivion I craved, longed for, becomes something I avoid at all costs. I stay awake for days on end, writing frantically, trying to alleviate my guilt through the written word, praying that the flow of ink of the clatter of keys would leech the poison as it spreads through my veins.<p>

My professors and advisers exclaim at my talent; commenting favorably on the tortured narratives I produce, praising the vividity of my descriptions, the depth of emotion I convey, and they gush over the sheer torment and agony I capture so well. I smile humourlessly, if only they knew … these writings do not convey even a fraction of the guilt and torment I carry with me constantly.

I continue to meet with Dr Denali weekly but I become weary of the circular nature of our conversations. He continues to insist I am not at fault for Jacob's death, that leaving him was the right decision. He tells me I'll never be able to truly move forward until I can forgive myself, and allow myself to let go of the guilt I carry. Guilt, he tells me, gets heavier the longer you carry it. I know the truth of this intimately, the burden of my guilt ways me down to the point I feel myself suffocating, being crushed by the depths of my self-hatred and loathing.

* * *

><p>Time flits past as I barely manage to keep myself functioning. Aside from the occasional text message from Edward, and my interactions with my advisers, and my weekly appointment with Dr Denali, I spend no time at all with people. I rarely speak, and I never smile. I merely exist.<p>

I stay in Seattle for Thanksgiving and Christmas, declining invitations from both my Dad and my Mom to spend the holiday with them. Edward and I Skype briefly on Christmas Day and he introduces me to his Mum, Esme, his Dad, Carlisle, and his little sister, Katie, via the little web cams on our laptops. Edward is back in London for only two days, having finished a lengthy tour of Europe and the UK. He next heads to Brazil, Australia, New Zealand and Japan. I smile and laugh when I'm supposed to; his family are lovely and warm, and I'm sure I'd adore them if I ever had the opportunity to spend time with them.

Katie, particular, seems eager to chat and get to know me, which I find endearing. She is ten years younger than Edward, having only just turned seventeen. She's adorable; blonde hair and blue eyes, with Edward's exquisite bone structure. She's a whole lot more extroverted than Edward, and she cheerfully chatters away, unconcerned by either the grainy webcam footage, or my awkward shyness.

"Ooh Bella, Edward hasn't stopped talking about you, lovey," she grins, having shooed her parents and brother from the room by insisting she needs 'girl-talk' time with me.

"Uh, right. Well, he's pretty important to me as well," I admit shyly.

"I can tell," she smiles. "He lights up like the bloody Christmas tree whenever your name comes up."

I blush, unsure of what to say. Katie has no such hesitations, merrily discussing their plans for Christmas and her plans for once she graduates from high school.

"I think I'd like to go into fashion design," she grins. "I've been sewing since I was a kid. Rosalie's offered to wear some of my designs to help get my name out there, but I think I'm going to work my way up from the bottom. Not just rely on my brother's best friend's wife being a superhot model type. I want to design clothes every girl can wear. Not clothes look amazing on a runway, but hideous on anyone with a normal figure, yeah? Oh wait, Edward says you sew too, yeah?"

"Uh yeah, I used to make nearly all my own clothes. I, uh, I haven't unpacked all my stuff since I moved to Seattle," I shrug.

"Did you make your frock?" Katie asks, tilting her head at me.

"Um, yes, actually," I admit, looking down at the red polka dotted shift dress I'm wearing over a charcoal turtleneck.

"Stand up, twirl around, lovey?"

I comply, feeling slightly ridiculous.

"Ooh, I love that. Cute tights too." Her head suddenly whips around, toward someone I can't see from via webcam. "Alright, lovey, don't get your knickers in a twist," she grins, before looking back at me. "Edward's tired of sharing you; he says it's his turn. It was lovely to meet you, dearest! Get my brother to bring you over here so I can meet you for real, yeah? Or better yet, convince him to fly me out there! We'd have so much fun!"

Edward's unruly mop of bronze hair suddenly appears on camera as he chases his sister away from the computer.

"She never stops talking, bloody hell," he sighs, flopping into the chair in front of his laptop, his green eyes alight with brotherly exasperation.

"It's fine, Edward. She's lovely," I assure him.

"Yeah? She was so excited to speak with you, love."

"I'm not that interesting," I sigh, looking down at my hands.

"That's untrue, but irrelevant, sweet girl. She knows how much you mean to me, so it was important to her to meet you."

I frown at his words. This meeting with Edward's family brings my guilt back full force as I consider my frayed relationships with Jacob's family, Billy and Rachel particularly. I see the concern written into Edward's features as he studies my face on his computer screen.

"I miss you, Edward," I blurt out, the words spoken before I give my tongue permission to speak.

"I miss you too, sweetheart. Only a month or so and I'll be back Stateside, Bella." Edward sighs, rubbing at his eyes. He looks weary, I realize, the last five months of non-stop touring taking their toll. And what will he return to? My psychotic, guilt-ridden, depressed, self: I am nothing, and I can't bear to put the burden of caring for me back on to his shoulders.

I'm almost relieved when he tells me Emmett's asked him to spend a week with him in LA when he lands back in the states at the end of January. Emmett is shooting some new big budget action film down there from January through to March, or possibly April. Rosalie has gone back to Edinburgh for the holidays and is staying there through until mid February, when her sister, Vera, is due to give birth to her first child. I insist Edward go to LA when he returns, encouraging him to spend time with Emmett. He reluctantly agrees, and I put on a brave face for him, smiling and wishing him a Merry Christmas as we sign off.

* * *

><p>When Edward lands back in Los Angeles, six long months after he left the States, we speak briefly before Emmett's driver picks him up. All through the week, tabloid magazines show picture after picture of the two of them laughing and smiling; out at gigs, pubs, and smoking on their hotel balcony.<p>

Edward stays in Los Angeles for nearly six weeks. Each time he suggests coming up to Seattle, I urge him to stay, to keep Emmett company, taking perverse satisfaction in torturing myself when he agrees. Edward doesn't deserve to bear the burden of my fucked-up misery, my selfishness that allowed me to reach for him whilst I was still married to another man. I think of all those dreams and fantasies I had of Edward as I lay in Jacob's bed and the self-disgust makes me physically ill.

After four weeks of living in LA, Edward starts to become a bit more insistent about seeing me. I make excuses, telling him I'm flat out with school, or that I don't have any free time. He doesn't give in easily, but my stubbornness is finally returning to me after a long absence, and I refuse to be swayed by his pleading. Eventually, I resort to a bold-faced lie. I tell him I don't want to see him. Nothing could be further from the truth; I miss him so desperately it's like there is a gaping hole within me; like I'm missing a part of myself when he is not here.

Despite my longing for him, I cannot let myself see Edward.

I shouldn't see Edward.

I can't.

I'll never be able to turn him away if he comes to me; though I know I should. He deserves someone lovely, beautiful, whole, just like he is. And yet, I torture myself, reminding myself that Edward wouldn't stay away if he truly cared. He wouldn't put up with my feeble excuses and denials if he truly wanted to see me.

As Jacob has promised me in my dreams, over and over, I am nothing. I wasn't enough for Jacob, and I could never be enough for Edward.

I am nothing.

Worthless.

A whore.

I kissed my best friend whilst my husband plummeted to a violent death.

I am nothing.

* * *

><p><strong>To the lovely new readers who have reviewed every chapter for me – I adore you. Thank you.<strong>


	24. March 2012

**Chapter 20: March 2012**

**A/N: And here we are, back where we started, from Bella's point of view.**

**I obviously don't own **_**Safe and Sound**_** – Taylor Swift & The Civil Wars do. The first time I heard it, it sounded exactly like the kind of music I imagine this Edward playing for his Bella.**

* * *

><p>A pounding on my door startles me from where I am sitting at the kitchen table, trying to force myself to swallow another mouthful of muesli. I stand and start to make my way toward the door, confused. Who could be seeking me out on a - what day is it? … I think it's Friday, or maybe it's Saturday.<p>

"Bella?"

No.

The sound of his voice, so familiar, so comforting, is like coming home. I collapse to my knees, weak with relief at the sound of his voice.

"Bella, come on sweetheart, let me in."

My instinct is to race to the door, fling it open and throw myself into his arms, but I fight it. Edward doesn't need me in his life. I am nothing.

"No, Edward," I gasp from where I kneel on the floor, a few feet from the door. "No. Please, please leave me alone. Please. I can't do this. It's not right." I'm begging, begging that he will heed my words and leave, because I know I don't have the strength to resist him for long.

"Bella darlin'," his voice is soft, gentle, but full of pain. "It's been six months. Please let me in, love. I've missed you terribly."

No, it's been seven months, nearly seven and a half. Oh, how I've missed you Edward. How desperately I've missed you; your warmth, your compassion, your kindness. The reminder of Edward's goodness renews my determination.

"I can't. It's not right. It's not right." My voice breaks as I utter these truths.

"Bella, love, what's not right? Please, talk to me." I can hear the hurt in Edward's voice, and tears begin to sting my eyes.

"_I'm_ not right Edward. I'm an awful, awful person. I'm disgusting."

"Sweetheart, you know that's not true. Come on, please Bella, at least open the door."

"I can't." I gasp, as the pain continues to swell in my chest. I tell myself over and over, fighting the magnetic draw, "I can't Edward. I can't see you."

"Bella, honey, I'm not going to leave. I'm staying here until you let me in. If you really don't want to see me any more, if you don't want to be friends any more, then I'll accept that, but you have to say it to my face."

So close. I'm so close to freeing him from the burden of myself. I just need to tell him I don't want his friendship. I can do that. I can lie to him, just this once. I bow my head, fighting back tears, preparing to speak the words that will remove this precious man from my life, freeing him from any obligation to me. I am not worthy of his love. Struggling for breath, I pull myself to my feet and take the three steps to my front door. I rest my head against the door, gasping for air and trying to reign in the tears spilling freely down my cheeks.

I fling open the door and the words die on my lips as an angel appears in the doorway before me. Edward. My eyes seek out his of their own accord; pain slicing through me as I see the sorrow and heartbreak reflected back at me. Edward looks utterly exhausted, weariness lining his face, sadness aging him interminably.

His arms wrap around me immediately, and though I want to surrender to his embrace, I fight it, tying to push him away. He doesn't give in, however, holding my carefully but fiercely as I struggle. The fight goes out of me at the gentleness I feel in his embrace and instead of fighting, I cling to him. I will never be able to let him go now. I am too selfish, I need him too much.

I love him too much.

Sobs wrack my body as I give in to the emotions I've been seeking so desperately to bottle up. I cry for the seven and a half months this precious man has been absent from my life, I cry for the guilt I feel at wanting to be here in his arms. I cry for the pain I see etched on his face, for the self-disgust I feel at not being able to push him away.

I cry, and cry, until there are no more tears and blackness overwhelms me.

* * *

><p>I must be dreaming.<p>

I'm in Edward's arms; even without opening my eyes, I know it. I can smell him, musky and masculine, I can feel the warmth of his embrace, his gentle fingers stroking my hair. More than that, I can tell where I am by the feeling of safety and security that washes over me. Smiling, I open my eyes, feeling at ease for the first time in seven and half months.

I'm slightly confused as to why dream Edward looks so careworn and haggard. I reach up to stroke his cheek.

"Edward," I sigh. "I miss you."

Oh how I miss him; like an ache that never eases. When he left, when I sent him away, he took part of me with him; I haven't been whole since he boarded that plane.

"I've missed you too, sweetheart," Edward's voice is rough with tears, and the magnitude of pain he conveys in those few words wrenches me back into reality.

"You're here." Startled, I sit up, loath as I am to leave the comfort of his embrace.

"Yes, Bella, I'm here."

"No. I can't see you. It's wrong." I say stupidly, my eyes wild. I exert myself one last time, trying to free him from the burden of myself.

Edward's eyes flash with pain and hurt, and the pain in my chest expands, making it difficult to breathe. When he speaks, it's measured, controlled.

"Bella, stop. Why is it wrong to see me? We've been friends for years. Why, _now_, is it so wrong for you to see me?"

Because I love you. Because I've always loved you. Because I was kissing you whilst my husband was dying. Because Jacob was right, you'll never love me back. Because I am not worthy of your love.

"I can't," is all I can manage, speaking difficult with the lead weight sitting on my chest.

"That's not good enough Bella. You need to tell me the truth, love."

Pain surges through me. I do owe him the truth. The truth; knowing the truth will drive him away like I intend. Steeling myself, I draw myself up to spit out the words that will finally take Edward from me.

"Don't you understand, Edward? Don't you get it? I'm disgusting. I basically wished him away. And now he's gone. And it's my fault. I wanted it."

Please don't make me spell it out.

Edward's brows draw together in confusion and concern.

"Bella, you know Jacob's death was an accident. No one was at fault. I don't understand what you're trying to say."

I stand up, trying to put distance between us; this time Edward releases his hold on me.

"Fine. You want the truth; here's the truth. You'll wish you never asked." I shout; anger and despair crash through me as I try to make him understand, to see just how wretched and miserable a creature I am. I take one more deep breath before I fling the truth at him, tears stinging my eyes.

"The truth is I love you. I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you for years. I loved YOU when he was alive. I fantasised about being with YOU when he was alive. And now he's dead. And I'm disgusting, because I WANTED YOU. I wanted to be free of him and now he's gone and it's all my fault because I WISHED HIM AWAY." I sob, gasping for breath. "He's gone. HE'S GONE. And I wanted him gone. But I didn't want him to DIE, Edward. I loved him, but I wanted you and now look what I've done."

Edward's face is frozen, shock and what I assume to be horror evident in his eyes. Unable to bear the inevitable rejection, I begin to retreat.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Edward," I whisper, before I seek refuge behind the nearest locking door.

Blinded by tears, I stumble into the bathroom, locking myself away from the revulsion I am sure now mars Edward's handsome countenance. I was wrong in thinking I'd exhausted my tears earlier, and I gasp desperately as they threaten to drown me. I curl up on the cold, hard tiles, shaking and rocking as desolation claims me.

"Bella? Bella? Sweet girl, please, please open the door."

I can't answer him. If I open my mouth I know it will be to beg him to stay. So instead, I shove my fist into my mouth, muffling the sobs and whimpers that are tearing frantically from my throat. I hear Edward jiggling the door handle, before there is silence, but for the faint echo of his footsteps.

He's leaving.

Though this is what I intended, it's agonizing to know he's giving up. The gaping hole in my chest rips further, leaving me breathless, excruciating pain and sorrow drowning me.

Shockingly, I hear his footsteps make their way back toward the bathroom, and I see the lock on the door slide open as he easily picks the emergency release on the privacy knob, most likely with a butter knife. It's a trick I taught him myself when he accidently locked himself out of the bathroom months ago. I steel myself for his anger, disgust and rejection.

What I don't expect to see is the tenderness and compassion in his expression. How can he look at me like this after my confession? Instead of disgust I see relief and hope dancing in his green eyes. Confused, I look up at him, and instead of fighting him when he bends towards me, I allow him to gather me up into his arms. He carries me carefully back into the lounge room, situating me in his lap as he sits down on the couch.

"You've lost a lot of weight, sweetheart," he frowns.

"So have you," I point out, noticing the gauntness creeping in around his cheekbones.

He studies my face carefully, his fingers gently tracing my cheeks, his touch tender and soothing.

"I've missed you, Bella, so much. I was going out of my mind."

"I missed you too," I whisper, terrified to admit my need for him. "Why are you still here, Edward? Why don't you hate me?"

Edward shakes his head in frustration, his jaw clenching.

"I could never hate you, sweet girl," he chokes out. "I love you. How can you not understand that by now? How can you not know how much I love you?"

"I know you love me, Edward. You've shown me that over and over and over."

"Then I don't understand what's upsetting you, love?"

"I kissed you, almost at the very point in time that my husband fell eight stories to his death. How can you not be disgusted by me?"

"Are you disgusted that I kissed you, Bella?" Edward asks quietly, refusing to meet my eyes.

"No!" I gasp, "No, I could never be disgusted by you Edward."

"Then, please Bella, please. I beg you, love, don't regret that kiss. It was the single greatest moment in my life, please don't regret it."

I look up at Edward, surprised by the vulnerability of his words and expression.

"Bella, I'm going to tell you this again. Hear me, please. I love you. I have loved you from the moment we spoke in Seattle, maybe even from the second I saw you in Portland. I love you."

I shake my head sadly, I know he loves me; we just mean different things when we make that declaration.

Edward shifts underneath me, moving me off his lap and on to the couch. Taking my hand, he kneels on the floor so his eyes are level with mine. I stare into his green gaze, which is unexpectedly soft; his eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

"Bella. I am in love with you. I have been in love with you from the moment we met. Do you understand me? Do you understand how I wished I could wrench you from Jacob's grip? Do you understand how it tormented me to know that the only woman I will ever love was married to another man?"

At this admission, my breath catches, and I furiously try to extinguish the hope I feel swelling in breast.

"Do you see, sweet girl, how it tormented me to know the way he treated you? When all I wanted to do was snatch you away from him, and shower you with love and affection, to show you that you're everything. It killed me, Bella. It killed me to watch the callousness and cruelty he inflicted upon you, when all I wanted to do was do absolutely everything in my power to make you smile. I'd have done anything to see that breathtaking smile that transfigures your whole face and draws people to you, to cause that light in your eyes to spark again. Instead, I had to stand by, impotent; watching as he extinguished the light in your eyes, crushed your self-esteem, and convinced you that you deserved nothing less. Watching him treat you as insignificant, as nothing, it was a hellish torment, dearest. "

"I _am_ nothing," I whisper, a single tear streaking down my face.

"You are _everything_, Bella. To me, you are everything. I tortured myself for loving you, for wanting you when you were married to another man. Do you know how wretched I felt, fantasizing about a married woman? But I promised myself I'd never make you choose, love. I swore I'd never make you feel like you had to choose between Jacob and I. I could never do that to you; put you in that position. But, still, I was too selfish to give you up, so I knew I'd just have to be content with your friendship." Edward sighs, the hand not entangled with mine scrubbing at his unshaven face.

"Do you have any idea how wretched I felt when I heard Jacob had been killed? Do you know the guilt I felt in delighting in his death; knowing it meant an end to they tyranny he subjected to you? What kind of man am I, to delight in your being widowed?" Edward shakes his head in defeat, and I realize he is just as terrified of my response as I was of his.

Tentatively, gently, I reach my free hand to his face, cupping his rough cheek, my thumb stroking away the tears that slowly fall from his emerald gaze. Edward leans into my hand, his eyes closing. Tears sparkle on his long lashes as they flutter against his cheeks.

"It's been agonizing to be away from you these seven months, love."

"For me too," I whisper. "I haven't been whole since you left."

Edward nods, "I know the feeling."

"I love you, Edward. I'm in love with you."

"I love you too, sweet Bella." Edward's eyes flutter open, and gently, sweetly he presses his lips to their favourite place on my forehead.

Edward looks down at our twined hands suddenly, his thumb tracing across the two rings that still adorn the fourth finger of my left hand. I stiffen, and begin to pull my hand from his grasp. Edward frowns at me, refusing to let me go. Gently, he stretches my fingers out, his fingers delicately gripping the cold, golden metal, the defining symbol of my vows and promises to Jacob. His green eyes study my reaction carefully as he twists them and slides them upwards. He pauses as the rings slips easily past my knuckle, looking up at me from where he kneels before me, his eyes full of emotion.

My rings now rest in the very place Pastor Weber had Jacob pause when he put them on my finger. Having relived it in my tortured dreams so many times, I can remember all too clearly the promise made at this point in the service:

"_With this ring I wed you; with all that I am, and all that I have, I honour you; in the name of God. Amen."_

In this moment, I truly experience a life-changing realization. Jacob did not keep that vow. Not for one second of our married life did Jacob honour me. Humiliate me, belittle and demean me, manipulate me, abuse me? Yes. Treat me as his personal slave? Yes. Honour me? No.

In that moment, I finally begin to forgive myself. All my guilt and angst over my perceived failure, my disgust at the infidelity of my mind and heart; it all slowly begins to fall away. Why am I holding myself hostage to promises that were broken within the first month having made them? I owe Jacob nothing; firstly, he is no longer here to be faithful to. And secondly, and perhaps more importantly to my peace of mind, why am I so set on keeping a promise that clearly meant nothing to Jacob? It is a promise he broke many, many times a day in a multitude of ways. In this moment, I start let go of Jacob, or more to the point, I allow Jacob's hold on me to loosen; I refuse to allow him to continue to control my life for a moment longer.

I look up into Edward's bright green eyes, and see the concern and apprehension written there. I smile gently for him to continue. Relief floods his features, and his lips curve slightly as he looks back down at my hands. Gently, he pulls the rings the remainder of the way off my finger, pressing a sweet kiss over the spot where they once rested. It is not lost on me that there is more love and tenderness present in the removal of these bands than there was in the putting of them on.

"Bella, my sweet girl. I love you." Edward's eyes blaze with truth and love, and finally, finally, I understand what he has been saying all along. This man loves me, truly, selflessly, and sacrificially. He loves with no thought to the cost, with no thought of himself. My heart swells; the emotion and love that overwhelm me are almost painful in their intensity.

"I know, Edward. I do. And I love you too, Edward. Truly."

Emboldened by our declarations, I free my hand from Edward's grasp and pull his face to my own. He pauses, his lips an inch from my own. Anticipation curls in my belly. I'm breathless, expectation and hope coursing through me.

"I love you, Bella," he whispers again. The reverence and joy in his voice is evident, and my heart thumps wildly in response.

"Always," I whisper.

Edward closes that final inch between us, and then his lips are moving softly and sweetly against my own. The taste of honey and smoke and joy fills my senses, a heady combination that causes a burst of exultation to pulse through my veins. In this moment, I begin to find healing, wholeness.

Edward's hands tangle into my hair, his long fingers caressing my scalp as he tilts my head gently. His lips leave my own, trailing across my jaw, and down my neck, where he pauses, breathing me in as his nose traces the line of my collarbone. I clutch him tighter, gasping, and his lips return to mine, now kissing me feverishly.

I launch myself off the couch, and into Edward's willing arms. He pulls me forward, sitting back on his heels and lifting me up on to his thighs, my legs wrapping around his waist.

Edward's tongue brushes over my bottom lip, probing, seeking permission I am only too willing to grant. Our tongues meet, tentatively at first, exploring, searching. A quiet sound, half-sigh half-moan, escapes me, and Edward's groans low in response. The noise, primal, visceral, as it is, ignites something low in my belly that I don't fully understand, but I that embrace nonetheless.

Time stands still. We kiss for minutes, hours, days. All I can feel is the gentle sweetness of Edward's mouth on mine, the warmth of his body pressed against my own, the suppleness of his lips as they caress and consume. With each kiss, each gentle touch, each caress, each soft spoken word of love and adoration, the cracks in my heart begin to mend; Edward is bringing me to life again.

Eventually, gasping desperately for air, we pull apart. Edward tenderly tucks my hair behind my ears, his chest heaving as he struggles to slow his breathing. His green eyes capture my gaze, the love and adoration and hope and pure, unadulterated joy I see there making my heart seem to swell to twice its normal size within my breast.

"I love you. I love you." I chant between breaths, tears once again filling my eyes.

"I love you too, my Bella. Don't cry sweet girl."

"Happy tears," I sniffle, throwing my arms around his neck and clinging to him in relief and joy. His gentle musicians' hands caress my back, soothing, comforting.

"I missed you so very much, sweet girl. I should never have left. I sh-"

I pull back to look at him, placing my fingers on his lips, halting his speech, his self-recriminations.

"I missed you too, Edward, but please, no could haves, should haves. Please, let's not do that."

Edward nods his understanding, his eyes shining. I press another soft kiss to his full lips. Feeling his lips curve into a smile, I pull back to look at him. I take in his handsome features with new eyes; his bronze hair, as long as I've ever seen it, flopping across his high forehead into his green eyes, which shine with emotion. My eyes trace the lines of his cheekbones, the sharp lines of his jaw, the pout of his full lips, swollen from my kisses.

The chime of Edward's phone pulls us from our entranced study of each other's faces. He groans softly, and gently lifts me up off his lap, placing me back on the couch. I giggle as Edward stands clumsily, his legs obviously feeling the lack of blood flow from having supported both of our weight for who knows how long. He shoots me a wink as he digs in his pocket for his phone; the playful gesture causing a fluttering in my stomach. He smiles softly as he shoots off a text.

"Rosalie," he says be way of explanation. "She was concerned for us."

"What did you tell her?" I ask quietly.

"I told her everything was perfect," he smiles. "Now, come on. It's well-past lunch time, and I'm starving, yeah?"

Edward extends his hand to me, as I blink in surprise.

"What time is it?" I ask, surprised, allowing Edward to pull me up from my position on the couch.

"It's nearly two," he shrugs.

"Seriously?"

"Uh, yeah … you did sleep for a while before, and uh, well," Edward scratches his head, and a cheeky smirk shapes his lips, "I might have distracted you with my snogging prowess for a while."

I can't help but giggle.

"Feel free to distract me that way any time," I smile, surprised at my own boldness.

Edward looks as surprised as I am at the provocative words that escape me, but his expression quickly morphs. He takes a step towards me, his eyes glinting, his smile predatory.

"Is that right?" he whispers, his voice husky and warm.

"Mmm hmm," I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

"I might never stop," he warns, and then his lips are on mine again, sweet and gentle and tender and searching and promising and completely overwhelming.

Panting, we pull apart.

"We need to go out and get something to eat, Bella, before I do something neither of us is ready for," Edward says between deep breaths. I nod, unable to form a coherent sentence, dizzy as I am with desire.

We grab wallets and keys, before heading out the front door. I follow Edward out and almost trip over a familiar guitar case. Surprised, I look up Edward, who is frowning down at the case.

"I, uh, I guess I forgot about it. I brought it over to play something for you, and then I saw you and I just dropped it and uh, yeah."

I squeeze his hand gently in understanding and apology, and he retrieves his guitar, setting it inside before I lock up my apartment.

We wander through Seattle, stopping for lunch and coffee, exchanging stories from the last few months we've been apart. Edward, as ever, has a collection of utterly outrageous traveling stories, completely absurd things that could only happen to him. I laugh and smile more in the two hours we're out and about than I have in the last two months.

As we sit sipping our aromatic coffee at one of the Stumptown cafés, Edward suddenly reaches for my hand, his expression serious.

"Are you ready for this, sweet girl?"

"This?"

"Us? Me? Bella, you're it for me, yeah? In you, I've found my soul-mate, I've known that since the first time I met you. But I thought this was beyond the realm of possibility, being with you, having you love me in return. And it thrills me beyond anything I could have imagined. But, love, you've been through so much, and I'm terrified of putting any pressure on you before you're ready, yeah?"

My initial response, shouted through my veins by my heart, is that yes, yes, I am ready. I've loved Edward for longer than I even realized. My brain catches up slowly though; my only experience of a relationship was soul-destroying, and left me floundering with no sense of whom I am. That, compounded with my depression, with grief I haven't dealt with particularly effectively, and it occurs to me that Edward is right to be concerned that I'm not in the best place to begin a new relationship. Suddenly, I'm completely bowled over by the sheer depth of Edward's affection for me. Though he has loved me for so long, he had given up on the notion that he could ever love me but from afar. And now, though the mere possibility gives him hope, he will still put my own needs before his own.

Not caring that we are in a bustling café, I am out of my seat and in his lap in an instant. He holds me tightly, surprised at the intensity of my response.

"I love you, Edward," I whisper, as he wraps his arms around me. I look up at his sweet face, raising my hand to stroke his cheek gently. "Thank you. Thank you for caring, for loving me. I don't know if I'm ready, Edward. Sometimes I don't know who I am any more. I haven't managed my depression or my grief well, and there are so many things I still need to work through so I can move forward. But I want to try, Edward. I can't wait, I can't pretend we're just friends when I love you this intensely. You're it for me also, hun."

Edward's sweet lips are on my own immediately, riotous in their joy. There is an exultation in the urgency and intensity of his kiss that causes my heart to pound wildly in my chest. As his tongue seeks out my own, I suddenly remember that we're in the middle of a crowded public space. Dizzy with the taste of Edward and a lack of oxygen, I pull back, breathless.

"Bella", he pants, resting his forehead on my own, "we'll go slow, sweetheart, and we'll help each other heal. But I can't pretend, either, love. I love you. I love you so much."

* * *

><p>When we finally make it back to my apartment, pausing along the way to share sweet kisses and tender hugs, Edward pulls me straight toward the dark brown leather couch.<p>

"Sit down, love. I have a song I want to play for you."

Smiling widely, I comply. I have missed Edward's music profoundly.

"I didn't write this," he says as he pulls his guitar out of its case and quickly tunes it. "I heard it about a month ago, and I hoped I'd have the opportunity to play it for you. You've probably heard it, you love The Civil Wars, yeah?"

I nod, mute. I suspect I know the song he's going to play, and the tears are already gathering in my eyes. Edward's fingers begin to move across the strings, and as he begins to sing, I can't help the sob that escapes my lips.

_I remember tears streaming down your face  
><em>_When I said, "I'll never let you go"  
><em>_When all those shadows almost killed your light  
><em>_I remember you said, "Don't leave me here alone"  
><em>_But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight..._

_Just close your eyes  
><em>_The sun is going down  
><em>_You'll be alright  
><em>_No one can hurt you now  
><em>_Come morning light  
><em>_You and I'll be safe and sound..._

_Don't you dare look out your window darling;  
><em>_Everything's on fire  
><em>_The war outside our door keeps raging on  
><em>_Hold onto this lullaby  
><em>_Even when the music's gone, gone_

_Just close your eyes  
><em>_The sun is going down  
><em>_You'll be alright  
><em>_No one can hurt you now  
><em>_Come morning light  
><em>_You and I'll be safe and sound..._

When Edward caresses the song to its close, he looks up at me, his eyes soft. He sets his guitar down, moving to sit beside me. His gentle hands cup my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks, as he studies me seriously.

"I love you, Bella," he promises.

"I love you too, Edward."

* * *

><p><strong>And so we come full circle, but don't worry, I'm not finished with these two just yet. I suspect I'll end up with around 30 chapters all told.<strong>

**I thoroughly enjoyed writing this chapter, so I hope you all liked it. Review for me, please?**

**Also, are there any requests for any particular outtakes? Particular viewpoints, scenes that are alluded to but not detailed and the like … Let me know and I'll see what I can do. Just don't ask me to write from Jacob's point of view, I'm sorry, but I just can't bear to go there.**


	25. March 2012: Over to Edward

**March 2012: Over to Edward.**

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews – it seems you were all delighted to see Bella let go of her guilt and embrace Edward wholly. Some really interesting suggestions as to some points-of-view you'd like to see. I'll see what I can do, but my first priority will be to wind up the main story first.**

**Also, FF is being absurd, so if I didn't reply to your review, my sincerest apologies; it means I haven't received a notification.**

**Oh, and just a friendly reminder, this story is rated M.**

**Song: **_**We Found Each in the Dark**_**, City and Colour.**

* * *

><p>The six months I spent on the road were painful, absent as I was from Bella. Moving from city to city, sound-checking, performing, then moving on again. It was hectic, and I rarely had time to breathe. Though Bella and I texted when we could, and managed to Skype occasionally, it was awful not being in constant contact with her. I could sense the distance she was putting between us, I could see the light in her eyes diminishing. She tried to put on a brave face, but she failed to take into account how well I know her; she hasn't fooled me.<p>

Those six months were nothing, however, on the torture I've endured for the last six weeks as she brushed me off time and again, and then refused to see me outright. Hearing her tell me she doesn't want to see me cuts me to the quick, and I end up crashing emotionally for several days. I managed to get through my entire time on the road with only two brief episodes of my depression rearing its ugly head. But having Bella refuse to see me sent me into deep downward spiral that meant I didn't leave my bed in Emmett's hotel room for nearly a week, unable to bear the agony of having her refuse me.

I had to come here to Seattle, demanding answers; I couldn't let her brush me off over the phone. Had she been able to look me in the eye and tell me she no longer wanted my friendship, it would have broken my heart, but I would have respected her decision. I would do anything for this precious woman, including absent myself from her life if she wished it. God knows how I would have survived it, though.

Seeing her so broken, guilt-ridden and distressed is crushing. I find myself still cursing her late husband, for though the bastard has been rotting in hell for nine months, the effects of his cruelty and abuse still shadow my Bella's life. Still she believes herself to be responsible for his death; still she feels she owes him her fidelity and love.

I see it in the moment that I remove the bastard's bands from her finger, unbinding her from him: the relief, the weight lifted, the liberation. Bella is finally starting to forgive herself, to realize she owes him nothing at all. The promises they exchanged are null and void, and Bella was not the one who broke them. I am so proud of her as she finally starts to shake off the hold Jacob has had over her, even in death.

Since that moment, I haven't been able to stop touching her, hugging her, kissing her. Feeling overwhelmed by an all-consuming need for her, I insist we head out to grab some lunch. If we stay in her little apartment, I am sure I will end up doing something more than kissing her, and neither of us is ready for that. As we walk around the city, I chastise myself; concerned that Bella is not ready for a new relationship. I agonize over it, until I realize I should simply talk to her about it.

Her response, "I want to try," causes my heart to soar, and leads to some rather intense public snogging. I can't find it in me to care about the sideways glances leveled at us. I need to kiss my girl, so I do. I have despaired of ever having this chance, and now that I do, no one else's idea of public propriety is going to stop me from kissing her soundly as I express my love for her.

The lullaby Taylor Swift and The Civil Wars have recorded struck me the first time I heard it; and I couldn't wait for the opportunity to play it for Bella. There is something spiritual about playing and singing for Bella, and the intensity of emotion that crashes through me threatens to drown me. I surrender to it gladly, submerging myself in the love and affection I feel for this sweet girl as it floods through me.

When I finish playing, I take a seat beside her, again declaring my love for her, and reveling in the fact she returns it earnestly. I pull her on to my lap so that she straddles me, and again kiss her soundly. There are no words to express the sheer and utter delight I feel as again my lips caress Bella's. It's all consuming, the jubilation I feel as her mouth dances with mine. She tastes like heaven and cinnamon and pure joy. I kiss her with every ounce of passion I can muster, until my lungs burn from a lack of oxygen.

I pull back to draw breath, my sense of masculine pride puffing up as I take in the dazed expression on my love's sweet face. She blinks a few times, gasping for air as her chest heaves. I force my attention away from that temptation, looking into her lovely brown eyes as they focus on my own. Her smile is breathtaking, and my heart skips a beat to see her looking so radiantly happy.

"I love you, Edward, I won't stop telling you."

"I love you too, sweet girl. I'll tell you every day, I promise."

Again, I bring her my lips to her sweet mouth, worshipping her with kisses. Kissing is not something I've particularly cared for in previous dalliances. With Bella though, I am certain I will never tire of the sweetness of her full lips, the soft caress of her tongue against my own, the way her hands automatically weave into my hair, the little gasps and whimpers that escape her, the way she is desperately rocking her body closer and closer …

"Bella," I groan, "Love, God knows I don't want to, but we need to slow down."

Bella groans in disapproval, rocking her hips against me once more in protest, before she pulls back, steadying herself with her hands on my shoulders, breathing heavily. Her eyes are dark, her lips swollen, her long hair wild: she is devastatingly desirable.

"I really like kissing you," she mutters mutinously.

"And I you, sweet girl, but I think, given everything, we need to take it easy, yeah?"

Bella sighs, but nods her agreement.

"Are you going to stay with me, Edward? Or are you going back to Rose and Em's? You are staying in Seattle, right?" Bella looks suddenly nervous, and I press a kiss to her forehead, breathing in the subtle floral scent that clings to her.

"If it's okay with you, I'll stay for a few nights, but I think it'd be best if I get my own place nearby, okay, love?"

Bella cocks her head at me, concern in her deep brown eyes.

"Your own place?"

"Yes, love. Nearby. In this building ideally, but I don't think living together is a great idea, not just yet. Do you understand, sweet girl? I want to do this right; I want to make a real go of this. And -"

"And we both have things we need to deal with." Bella nods her understanding, and I exhale in relief. "I get it, Edward. I want us to have a healthy relationship, not some kind of co-dependency thing happening. But at least stay a few nights with me, okay? I've missed having you in my bed."

"Bella," I groan. "You can't say things like that, dearest."

Bella frowns, and I watch her face fall as she realizes what she's said. A sweet pink blush spreads across the apples of her cheeks.

"Oh."

I can't help but chuckle at her bashfulness.

"So, my sweet girl, can I ask you something?"

"Anything, love."

My heart thrills at Bella's appropriation of the term of endearment; both at the way she's absorbing my speech patterns, as well as the easiness with which she refers to me as her love.

"Will you go on a date with me this week?" I smirk at her, knowing I'm being cheeky.

Bella giggles and taps her finger to her chin thoughtfully.

"Hmm … Yes, I suppose so."

"You suppose so?" I echo, cocking one eyebrow at her.

"Yes, Edward, I'd love to go on a date with you." Her smile is genuine, her eyes sparkling.

That first night, Bella and I stay up until well past 3am, chatting and talking and dreaming. I play for her for a while, and eventually in the wee hours of the morning, she falls asleep beside me. I stay where I am for a while, content to watch her sleep, her face relaxed, her full lips pouting slightly.

Eventually, I gather her sleeping form into my arms and carry her to her bed. I slip off her shoes, before kicking off my own, and crawl under the covers. Without waking, Bella insinuates herself into my embrace, and I smile delightedly at the fact that she seeks me out unconsciously. I press a tender kiss to her cheek, stroking her hair away from her face.

As I lie in the dark, I can't wipe the smile from my face. The emotional gamut I've run today is incomprehensible; from devastation and despair, anticipating heartbreak, to the utter joy and delight I feel at knowing that Bella returns my affections. I am profoundly aware of the fact I am a lucky bastard. For nearly two years, I have loved Bella, knowing from the moment we met that she was my soul-mate, the woman I would choose to spend my life with in a heartbeat. But she was always unattainable, and I had to resign myself to the fact that I would never, ever be able to offer her, or ask for, anything more than friendship. And yet, in the space of a few hours, I have been granted the deepest desires of my heart.

Though I am aware that there is much we will need to work through; individually and together, my heart swells with hope and joyful expectation.

I drift toward sleep; my heart at ease, dreams of Bella's sweet kisses filling my subconscious.

* * *

><p>When I awaken, I do not worry that I've been merely dreaming, for the scent of Bella surrounds me. Her subtle fragrance clings to the sheets I'm entangled in, and I can feel the warmth of her body pressed against my chest. I open my eyes slowly, enjoying the feeling of contentment that has been absent from me for so long. Bella's deep brown eyes fill my vision, and a smile stretches my lips immediately.<p>

"Good morning, love," I rasp, my voice rough with sleep.

"It's a beautiful morning, Edward," Bella whispers. She is lying across my chest, her chinned propped on her clasped hands as she watches me.

"Have you been awake long, dearest?"

"A few minutes," she admits cheerfully. "I was just enjoying watching you sleep."

I chuckle at her shy grin, moving suddenly to flip her over and pin her beneath me. I watch, fascinated, as she bites down on her full bottom lip, her eyes darkening as I loom over her. Leaning down, I capture that tempting, plump lip between my own, kissing her gently but deeply. Bella moans softly, her body arching up towards me as she responds enthusiastically to my mouth on hers. I kiss her deeply for a few minutes, carefully keeping the, er, evidence, of the full extent of my desire hidden. Gasping for breath, I pull away, smiling down at my love.

"Come on, sweetheart, as much as I would happily stay right here all day, I think we need to go apartment hunting."

* * *

><p>I stay in Bella's bed for three more nights, having managed to secure an apartment in the same building by a stroke of good luck and some impeccable timing. Em, who's wrapped his blasted film, finally, Riley and Demetri help me move the little stuff I have, and Bella and I hit up some second hand furniture stores until I have enough stuff in my new place to get me by. I would have been fine with a bed, a couch and a coffee machine, but Bella shakes her head in exasperation and suddenly I'm taking home chests of drawers and tables and cabinets and who knows what else.<p>

I don't particularly enjoy sleeping alone any more, all those weeks sleeping beside Bella before the tour has meant I find it difficult to fall asleep when I'm alone. However, I'm convinced this is the right thing for us to; to experience a reasonably normal courtship, which means parting ways for the night … for now.

Bella's nightmares take a while to taper off, and she calls me in tears twice in the first week after I move into my own place, prompting me to clamber out of bed and race to her room as fast as the bloody elevator will allow. We make a deal that she will call me on these nights, because I know all too well her tendency to succumb to the guilt that still plagues her subconscious mind from time to time.

On Wednesday afternoon, I text Bella to tell her I'm taking her on a date on Friday night. She happily agrees, and I can't help the giddy feelings that appear in my gut.

On Thursday, I decide to surprise her with lunch, knowing she doesn't have to be on campus at all on Mondays and Thursdays. After picking up some gourmet sandwiches, I quietly unlock her front door with the key she's given me. I don't know what prompts me to be sneaky; I just like the idea of surprising her.

The loud noise that fills her little apartment is familiar, but out of place. It's a noise I associate with Mum and Katie, not with Bella. The rapid thumping of a sewing machine in full flight fills the apartment. Grinning, I follow the sound into her bedroom. In a corner, Bella has set up a large desk, which she is currently sitting at, her back to me. Navy blue fabric is flying everywhere as she works quickly and efficiently. Not wanting to cause her to run her finger through the machine, I wait until she pauses and the machine goes silent, before calling her name.

She jumps a little, whirling to face me, and I can't help but chuckle at her. Her dark hair is quite literally tied in a knot to keep it out of the way and she has half a dozen pins held between her lips; pins she is frantically pulling away so she can speak.

"Gah! Edward, you scared me. And get out! You're not supposed to see this yet."

"Are you making me something, dearest?"

"No," Bella rolls her eyes at me, "I'm making something to wear tomorrow night." Abruptly, she blushes and drops her eyes. I feel like a cad for embarrassing her, though I'm chuffed that she's making something special to wear on our first date.

"Okay, okay," I smile as I back out of her room, "Will you be done soon, love? I brought some lunch."

"I'll just be five minutes or so," she calls back at me.

I plate up our sandwiches and pull out a couple of cans of root beer. North America has the best fizzy drinks.

Bella appears about ten minutes later, a smile of accomplishment on her features.

"All done, yeah?"

"Uh-huh. All done. I'm sorry, it took a bit longer than I thought it would. Thanks for bringing lunch, hun," Bella kisses me on the cheek before sliding into the seat behind me. The ease with which she shows me affection makes my heart soar.

"You're welcome, love."

We fall into easy conversation as we eat, mostly chatting about music and poetry. I love to watch Bella talk about subjects she's passionate about. She waves her hands around a lot, and her head tends to tilt when she's deep in thought. Already, I can see some changes within her as she gains confidence and begins to blossom, freed from the tyranny of her late husband. She's never been afraid to disagree with me, which I adore, particularly when she tells me exactly why she doesn't like Thee Spivs, gesticulating madly while she rags all over one of my favourite bands. I laugh, shaking my head at her enthusiasm.

She's still ranting at me about "shouty vocals and unpleasant discordance" when I pull her out of her chair and silence her abruptly with my lips. She responds immediately, her arms snaking around my neck. My playful kiss becomes intense quickly as I feel the urgency and desire in Bella's kisses escalating.

"Bella," I gasp, pulling back reluctantly.

Bella pouts at me, her deep eyes dark, her lips red and swollen.

"Love, -"

"I know, Edward, and it's fine. Thank you for being concerned for me. I might not like it, but I do understand."

I kiss her softly, sweetly, once more before pulling back again.

"A'right, love. I have a few errands to run, but I'll be back by this evening, okay? Emmett's coming over for a few beers but call me any time if you need me."

"Thanks, hun. I'm going to go have a drink or two with Rosalie - by the way thanks _so_ much for telling me she's back in town - but I'll call if I need to."

"Oh, right. Yeah, she got back on Monday," I admit, scrubbing my hands through my hair. "Sorry, I should have told you, but I was probably distracted by your sweet lips," I smirk, kissing her again to illustrate my defense.

"Nice try," she murmurs, but I feel her smile against my lips so I know I'm forgiven.

* * *

><p>Emmett turns up early in the evening with a few boxes of pizza and an armful of Brew Dog.<p>

"Nice place," he grins. "I was expecting a mattress on the floor and a coffee brewer. Oh, and a record player."

I grin at the memory of our tiny, sparsely furnished apartment when we first moved in together; young and naïve as we were, having both just arrived in London.

"Bugger off, you git. Bella made me get all sorts of furniture, yeah? She even insisted I get shit to put my clothes in. Apparently keeping them in the basket isn't a good idea," I shrug as Emmett chuckles.

We fall into an easy banter as we annihilate the pizza and down a few 5am Saints. I know, however, when Em pulls out the Tactical Nuclear Penguin*, that he's about to get serious. He pours the dark beer into two small glasses, hands one to me and turns to me seriously.

"So, lad … Bella …"

"Bella," I can't help the smile that stretches across my face as I say her name.

"Aye. So, what's happening, lad? Rosie and I've been going out o' our bloody mind with worry for the two o' you. I was going to kick your arse all the way from LA to Seattle had you not finally pulled your head out and come up here when you did."

"You're the one who asked me to bloody well stop in LA!"

"Aye, but just for a few days lad; I wanted to make sure your head was on straight after having been away for so long."

I sigh, scrubbing at my hair.

"I fucked up. I shouldn't have listened to her. I should have come up here straight away. I knew what she was trying to do and I should have fought harder. When she said she didn't want to see me, I shouldn't have listened. I sh-"

"Shoulda, coulda, woulda, Edward. The question is; what are you going to do now?"

"I'm taking her on a date tomorrow night," I grin, feeling like a giddy schoolgirl.

"A date? You do move fast, son."

"Fast? Em, I've been in love with her for almost two years, I'm not going to wait any longer."

"You'll need to be –" Emmett's warning pisses me off, and I cut him off quickly.

"Careful. I know Emmett. Do you really think I haven't thought that through? Do you really think I'm not aware of the extent to which that bastard fucked up her view of relationships, and of herself? And do you really think I'd do anything to hurt her? I'd rather cut off my arm than hurt that beautiful girl! I second-guessed myself after I kissed her and told her I loved her, but I realized I just needed to talk to her. Not make assumptions about what I thought was best for her. So we talked. And she wants to give us a try."

Emmett studies me thoughtfully, before his fucking dimples appear.

"Excellent. You guys will be fine. Oh, it'll be hard for sure, but keep talking and you two'll manage to work through anything. Now, where are you taking her for your date?"

* * *

><p>Despite Emmett's reassurances, I'm feeling very nervous as I stand outside Bella's door the next evening. I brush my hair out of my face in frustration; I really should have had it cut before tonight, and, fuck, I probably should have shaved too. Hopefully Bella won't mind too much. Tugging at the collar of my shirt, I take a deep breath, before I raise my hand to knock on her apartment door.<p>

Bella opens the door, her smile lighting her face. I stand stupidly in the doorway, taking her in. She's stunning in a navy knee length dress, which, thanks to bloody Katie, I know has a _bateau_ neckline. There's a thin, shiny red belt around her slim waist, which matches the bright red ballet flats she's wearing. White stockings complete her cute little outfit. Her long dark hair is loose and shiny, and she has only some simple eye make-up on, much like the first time I ever saw her.

I note with relief that she's not wearing any lipstick, which means I can kiss her … So I do. I pull her toward me with my free arm, kissing her soundly. When she moans softly, I release her, swelling with pride as she sways on her feet.

"You look amazing, love."

"Uh, thank you," she blinks a few times, trying to regain her equilibrium. "Geez, you really do have mad snogging skills."

I chuckle; presenting her with the bouquet of red tulips I picked up earlier this afternoon.

"Thank you, Edward," she smiles softly, bustling into her kitchen to set them in a vase. I stand behind her as she fills the vase with water, gathering her hair to the side, appreciating the scooped back of her dress which shows off the lovely pale skin of her back and shoulders. I place my hands on her waist, my nose tracing up and down her neck as she arranges the flowers carefully. She giggles and shivers, but leans into me, sighing in contentment.

"So," I say, between the kisses I'm pressing down her neck and across her shoulders. "You made this dress, yeah?"

"Mmm hmm," she agrees.

"You're very clever, love."

"So are you, Edward. Ohhh. Hun, you're driving me crazy!"

"Sorry," chastised, I pull back, gently turning her to face me.

"I didn't mean you had to stop," she pouts. I laugh at her disgruntled expression.

"Plenty of time for that later, dearest. Come on, let's go."

Bella grabs a little red cardigan and her bag, before she locks up her apartment. I offer her my arm, delighting as she giggles but accepts it.

After dinner, Bella exclaims delightedly as she realizes I'm taking her to see James Vincent McMorrow play. She bounces around excitedly, her smile lighting her eyes and warming my heart.

It's a beautiful thing to be able to watch Bella lose herself in music. I know it's such an essential part of her life, and I know how much I enjoy playing for her, but watching her enjoy someone else's music is different, though no less satisfying. Periodically, she squeezes my hand, and I'm thrilled that despite her utter involvement in the performance, she's still connecting with me.

When I ask if she wants to meet James after the show, her big brown eyes widen in surprise.

"Do you know him?" she asks.

"Uh, yeah, we've met a few times."

Bella frowns, contemplating my offer.

"Did Leah ever tell you I told her I didn't want to meet you the first time she met me?"

"What? No!"

Bella smiles softly.

"Yeah, I guess, I told her I never really understood people's desire to meet celebrities. 'Cos you know, they've already made their contribution to your life through their music, their art, whatever, and what could I possibly have to give back?"

I frown, both at Bella's words, and at the idea that had Leah not been so incredibly persistent, I might never have had the opportunity to meet the sweet girl sitting beside me. I'm going to have to write Leah a thank you card.

"Bella, you give me everything, sweet girl, just by being you." I kiss her gently, once again overwhelmed by this chance I've been given to love her, something that seemed so impossible for so long.

"I love you, Edward."

"I love you too, dearest."

All thought of meeting James forgotten, we head back to Bella's apartment, pausing along the way as I steal sweet kisses from her lips.

"Do you want to come in, hun?"

"Bella – "

"Edward, I intend on kissing the life out of you, nothing more, okay? So nod your head and say 'Yes, Bella, I'd love to'."

"Yes, Bella, I'd love to," I grin as I comply; Bella's sudden assertiveness is an incredible turn-on.

As soon as we're through Bella's front door, my mouth is on hers. We stumble toward the couch, unwilling to take a breath long enough to see our way. I collapse into the soft seat, pulling Bella with me, encouraging her to straddle my lap while we continue snogging. I can feel Bella rocking over me, and I know I should stop her, but I just can't bring myself to, delighting as I am in the friction and warmth and the taste of Bella. It takes everything in me not to grab her arse and grind her into me; instead I let my hands wander gently up and down her spine, caressing the bare skin of her back softly.

When Bella pulls back for air, her breath coming in deep gasps, I trail my lips down her throat and across her collarbone, smirking as I see goosebumps arise on her silky smooth flesh. Bella grabs my hair roughly and pulls my face back to her own, capturing my lips with another searing kiss. Her aggressiveness thrills me and I groan lowly, a noise which seems to spur Bella on as she frantically rocks her hips into me.

Little whimpers escape her as I continue to ravish her with my lips, her little noises driving me wild as I push my hips back against her. My hands continue to caress her, tracing the curves of her body, pulling her firmly into me as the ache in my groin intensifies. She is warm and soft and so sexy as she continues to kiss the hell out of me, just as she promised she would.

I watch, entranced, as she suddenly pulls her lips from mine, gasping, her head thrown back, her eyes closed, her mouth falling open in surprise. Just as suddenly, she curls back inwards on herself and bursts into tears, leaping off my lap and into the nearby armchair where she huddles in a tight ball, shaking and sobbing.

"Bella, love? Are you okay?" Ignoring my own discomfort from the abrupt end to our rather intense fit of passion, I move quickly to kneel on the floor in front of her.

"I don't know what happened," she sniffles, refusing to meet my eyes.

Gently, I take her trembling hand, stroking her palm with my thumb as I try to coax an explanation from her.

"Sweet girl, did I hurt you? Did I frighten you?" I'm cursing myself for getting so caught up in my own desires, guilt pressing heavily on me for not taking Bella's inexperience into consideration.

"No, I, uh, I was really enjoying myself," she whispers, hiccupping, still hiding her face in embarrassment.

"Love, please, can you tell me what happened?"

Bella takes a deep breath before she starts speaking, looking at my hand in hers.

"Uh, it felt really good, Edward, my body was just taking over, but gosh, then it felt uh … Like really, really amazingly good, but then my body kind of got all hot and tensed up, and then …" Bella breaks off, shaking her head. "I'm so embarrassed."

"Sweet girl, you never need to be embarrassed with me, yeah? Nothing you can say is going to cause me to think less of you. You can tell me anything, love, I won't laugh at you."

"My, uh, it … started doing something weird." Bella drops her voice to a whisper, "It felt really weird, you know, _down there_, all the muscles started doing something really strange, like, clenching or pulsing or something. And it freaked me the hell out." Bella sighs, tucking her head into my shoulder.

Understanding dawns on me and though I feel a small sense of accomplishment, I don't know whether to cry, or scream in anger. That fucking bastard …

"Bella, love, can you look at me, please?"

Reluctantly, Bella lifts her dark eyes up to meet mine. Gently, carefully, I wipe away the tear tracks that stain her soft cheeks. I sigh, feeling so desperately sad that her previous, awful, experiences of sex mean she hasn't enjoyed this first experience of pleasure.

"Sweetheart, I'm pretty sure that what happened was actually quite normal. Bella, my love, you had an orgasm."

Bella's eyes widen in surprise, before she starts shaking her head.

"No, Edward, that can't be right. I'm anorgasmic." I can see the shame burn across her features at her admission.

"Oh, Bella," I pull her into my arms where I kneel on the floor, unable to stand the distance between us. "Love, I don't believe that's true. I think, rather, you were afflicted with a husband who was a selfish lover, who didn't actually exert any effort in helping bring you to climax."

"But-"

"Love, I know it's hard to talk about this, given your experiences, but did Jacob, bloody hell … did he spend much time seeking to arouse you before he, fuck … before he penetrated you?" I'm almost mortified to be speaking so clinically about sex with Bella, but I need her to understand her experience is not of a loving, giving, healthy sexual relationship.

Bella frowns, which answers my question without her needing to speak.

"You mean kissing me? No, not really."

"No, love, though kissing is certainly part of it. I mean did he touch you, caress you, did he spend time working out what excited you, what gave you pleasure?"

"Uh, no. He usually just put some lubricant on me and kind of pushed himself inside me." Bella tenses in my arms as she remembers the experience, and rage clouds my vision. "It usually hurt a lot." She admits, looking back down at our hands.

That. Fucking. Bastard. Jacob is lucky he's dead, because I would quite literally kill the worthless arsehole for the pain he's inflicted on this sweet, tender woman.

"Fuck," I mutter, tucking Bella's head under my chin and tightening my arms as they encircle her. I hold her close for a minute, before I draw back and cup her face in my hands, forcing her to look up at me.

"Bella. Sex is not supposed to hurt. If you're sufficiently ready, it shouldn't be painful at all, sweetheart, and often, lubricant isn't necessary. When your body is, um, aroused, it produces it's own, uh, lubricant." Bella's eyes widen, and it breaks my heart that I'm having to explain the workings of her own body to her now, so late in her life. I realize her mother was flitting around the globe from commune to commune whilst Bella was growing into a woman, and obviously no one ever thought to equip her with the knowledge she would need for a healthy sex life.

"So, that's supposed to happen?" she asks, her eyes wide.

I look at her quizzically.

"Uh, my knickers feel a bit wet … uh, this is all sorts of embarrassing."

I smile gently, "No love, you don't need to be embarrassed. That's supposed to happen when you're enjoying yourself, when you're getting turned on."

Bella looks up at me curiously, thoughtfully. After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, she nods her head, and then, unexpectedly, breaks out into a cheeky grin. It's such a contrast to our intensely difficult discussion that I blink at her in surprise.

"You gave me my first orgasm, Edward."

I nod, dumbstruck.

"You made my knickers wet, Edward."

My mouth works, no sound coming out, but fuck if I'm not getting aroused all over again at the not-so-innocent words coming from her sweet mouth.

"Can you do it again?"

* * *

><p><strong>*Tactical Nuclear Penguin is genuinely the name of a beer produced by Scottish beer brewers Brew Dog. It's also 32% vv alcohol. I've not had the TNP, but I can vouch for the Punk IPA, the 5am Saint and the 77 Lager. Unfortunately, I live in a part of the world where getting my hands on great beer usually involves a good hours' drive.  
><strong>

**As for Bella's first orgasm – yeah, that incident comes straight out of the book of my own life. I had no freaking idea what the hell was happening to me and I burst into tears. **


	26. March  April 2012

**Chapter 21: March - April 2012.**

**A/N: I finally set up a twitter account for this side of my life. (at)shellisthimbles - follow me if you'd like.**

* * *

><p>"Good morning, Isabella. Come on in."<p>

"It's Bella, Dr Denali."

"It's Eleazar, Isabella."

I chuckle as I take a seat.

"Touché, Eleazar."

"So, Bella, how is Edward?"

"Uh, how did you know he's back?" I ask, puzzled.

"Firstly, you cancelled your appointment last week, and I know you wouldn't have done that for no reason. And secondly, the beaming smile on your face, young lady. You look happier than I've ever seen you. It's a fairly simple conclusion to draw, knowing, as I do, how much that young man means to you."

I smile fondly as every declaration, every kiss, flashes through my mind.

"He's great. He came back last Saturday."

"And yet, he's not in my waiting room this morning?"

"No," I laugh, "He wanted to, but I told him to go do something interesting. So he dropped me off, and I think he's gone shopping for some guitar strings, or something."

"So, is he living with your Scottish friends again? Forgive me, I've forgotten their names."

"Rosalie and Emmett," I supply, grinning. I guess Dr Denali doesn't watch many films. "And no, he's leased a flat in my building."

"Ah. He's not going to sleep on your couch this time around?"

"No," I sigh. "As much as I'd like him to, we decided we needed to maintain our own places for now."

"For now?"

"Um, yes. We, uh, we … " I stutter for a bit, before taking a deep breath. "I love him, Eleazar. And he loves me. And we want to be together but we're both a little messed up, and so we figured it would be best to live separately, develop a healthy relationship, so that we don't use each other as crutch, I guess. We don't want to develop some kind of co-dependent relationship. We know we have healing and growing to do, but we both have hope that we'll be able to develop a healthy, happy relationship."

Eleazar studies me carefully, a slight smile on his face.

"I must say, Bella, you seem to have changed your views a lot in the two weeks since I've seen you. Can I ask, what's changed? Last I spoke to you, you were still determined to be bound by the wedding vows you made with Jacob."

I nod, having expected this question. I raise my left hand, indicating the absence of my wedding bands.

"Edward helped me take them off. Uh, and as he was pulling them off, I had this vivid flash of the promise that you make at that part of the service, you know? I think it's something like 'With this ring I wed you; with all that I am, and all that I have, I honour you'. And it occurred to me that Jacob broke those vows, daily, in many, many ways. He never honoured me. Not even close. And I realized, not only is he gone, but also, he broke those vows almost continually. So why was I so insistent on keeping promises that meant nothing to him?"

Eleazar nods, clicking his pen absently.

"Well, Bella, it seems you've made progress in leaps and bounds this week," he smiles genuinely at me. "It's very encouraging to see you beginning to forgive yourself, to come to terms with the fact that Jacob's behaviour toward you was reprehensible and undeserved. And it's been obvious to me from the first time you both walked into my office that Edward cares deeply for you. With both of you having suffered depression, you're both quite fragile, I suppose, but there's no reason you can't develop a healthy relationship. My advice would be to keep communicating, as you have been. And really, that's no different to the advice I'd give to any couple."

Eleazar looks over at me kindly, his hands clasped together.

"So are you enjoying this new relationship, Bella?"

"Yes, very much so. He took me on a date on Friday night." I can't help but grin at the memory.

"And I take it you had fun, Bella?"

"Yeah," I nod. "I guess, I mean, Jacob and I never really went on dates per se. He never went to any effort really, we just hung out at his Dad's place most of the time. But Edward, he's so sweet, thoughtful. He brought me flowers and took me to see one of my favourite musicians -" I break off, frowning.

"Bella?"

"Sorry, I just … I mean, will I always be comparing Edward to Jacob? In my head it's there all the time, noticing all the differences. Like, the way Edward opens doors for me, or walks on the road side of the sidewalk, or asks me what music I want to listen to in the car. I'm always making comparisons, and I don't want to be. I just want to appreciate Edward for who he is. And what if one day, he does something that's like what Jake did? Not anything bad, just say, a silly habit or something? I never want to associate the two of them. I just don't know how to turn off that side of my brain."

"Do you think, Bella, that that's uncommon in a new relationship? Would not any girl, notice, for example, the similarities and differences in an ex-boyfriend and a new lover? It seems reasonable to expect that she would. Perhaps it wouldn't be wise to articulate them to Edward constantly, but my suggestion would be, when you notice the differences you enjoy, such as Edward's chivalry, be glad for them. When you notice similarities, try to separate the behaviour from the individual. Suppose, for example, that Edward and Jacob both shared that dreadful masculine habit of leaving the toilet seat up. It doesn't necessarily mean they share any similarities in personality, does it?"

"No," I agree. "I guess it will just take time."

"Most things do," Eleazar smiles. "Do you have questions or concerns, Bella?"

"No … Actually, yeah, I do. It's just a little embarrassing …"

Eleazar smiles gently, "Bella, I can't imagine there is anything you could ask that would shock me. Trust me, I've heard it all over the years."

"Ah, yeah, I guess you have," I chuckle. "Um, so Edward and I were fooling around a bit after our date," I pause, feeling my cheeks flush scarlet. "And, I guess I got a little bit carried away, and I, uh, I had, um, an orgasm. But I always thought I was anorgasmic, so I had no idea what was happening, and it was a little terrifying."

Eleazar nods, motioning for me to continue.

"But, then once I understood what was happening, why it was happening, we did it again." I can't help but smirk at the memory. Watching Edward succumb to pleasure was easily one of the greatest moments of my life.

"Uh, we didn't have sex, and we didn't take our clothes off. I'm just worried though. Edward really wants to put the brakes on, and I understand why, but I don't really want to. Do you think it's too soon? Should we be slowing down?"

Eleazar looks at me thoughtfully for a moment before he speaks.

"It's understandable that you're eager to explore sexual intimacy, Bella, particularly given that your experiences have been limited, and quite unpleasant, and you're now discovering how pleasurable it can be. The first thing I want to say to you is that it's normal and healthy for you to want to explore that facet of your relationship. You don't need to be ashamed or embarrassed about it."

I nod, grateful for this reassurance.

"Secondly, and I've already said this: talk. You and Edward need to talk about this, preferably not when you're caught up in the moment. Now, we've talked a lot about your experiences with Jacob, but I don't know anything about Edward's history – nor do I need to. But you do. He may have hang-ups and insecurities as well, Bella, so it's important you get that all out in the open as well."

I murmur my understanding, recalling that Edward had told me previously that he used sex to self-medicate his depression. I wonder how that will have affected his views on intimacy. Will he, perhaps, flee from sexual activity when he has one of his depressive episodes, or is that more likely to spark his, uh, appetite? And if it does, would it be helping or hindering his management of his illness?

When I leave Eleazar's office after the hour is up, I'm still deep in thought. I'm not surprised to see Edward waiting for me. I am, however, surprised by his appearance.

"You got a haircut! I can see your eyes!" I giggle. Edward's crooked smirk appears, drawing my attention to his now smoothly-shaven jaw line.

"Oh! And you shaved!"

I cross the room quickly as Edward stands up to greet me, setting aside the magazine he was flicking through. My hands immediately seek out his face, caressing his strong jaw line, his high cheekbones.

"So handsome," I mutter. "Did you get shaved at the hairdressers?" I ask, suddenly aware that he probably didn't shave in a public bathroom in Port Angeles.

"It's called a barber, Bella. Men don't go to hairdressers. And yes, the barber shaved me."

"Ooh, with one of those crazy knife things?"

"Yes, Bella, it's called a cut-throat," Edward's eyes sparkle with amusement at my ignorance of manly grooming habits.

"Barber, cut-throat. Got it," I mumble, distracted by the feel of his smoothly shaven jaw under my fingertips. Edward's eyes darken as he watches me, caressing his cheeks, his jaw, and down his throat. Hungrily, he pulls my mouth to his own, kissing me sweetly but intensely. A throat clearing behind me causes us to jump apart, both of us blushing furiously. Dr Denali chuckles at our twin expressions of embarrassment at having been caught making out in his waiting room.

"Come on, sweet girl. Let's go get some lunch."

"Okay. Bye Eleazar." I mumble, my cheeks still blazing.

"I'll see you in a two weeks, Bella. Edward. Have a lovely day," Eleazar's eyes twinkle with grandfatherly amusement as we leave his office, hand in hand.

* * *

><p>Settling into a routine with Edward back in town is simple, natural. Juggling school, now fortnightly appointments in Port Angeles, and a boyfriend doesn't seem too complicated. Edward plays a few gigs in the North-West, just to keep himself busy; he loves trying out new songs with an audience, and jamming with other musicians. Sometimes I go along to watch, other times, I use the nights he's out to keep on top of my course load.<p>

Edward and Emmett begin to talk about setting up a record company and some studios together; from what I can understand, Emmett will be a silent partner, whilst Edward makes the creative decisions. They seem excited and Rosalie and I smile indulgently at their boyish enthusiasm as they plot and dream. I had no idea, but Edward is also making a fair bit of money writing songs for other artists. I'm so proud of my scruffy British boy; though I tell him I'll kick his butt if he ever sells any of the songs he writes for me. He laughs, shaking his head, before gathering me into his arms and assuring me that he'd rather sell his soul.

For the most part, it seems like Edward and I are developing a healthy, loving relationship. We're not perfect, and we piss each other off at times, and it takes me a long time to come to terms with the fact that whilst Edward might be annoyed by my _behaviour_, it doesn't mean he hates _me_. He's careful with his words, for which I am thankful. He's not one to say "you're an idiot, Bella," or "you're annoying," or "you're so stupid for thinking that". Instead, he carefully phrases his irritation: "Bella, that noise you're making is irritating me," "I love you, sweetheart, but I completely disagree with you," or "I'm frustrated that you don't have time to see me tonight." He goes to great lengths to make it clear to me that, whilst I'm annoying the hell out of him, he still loves me.

* * *

><p>"Edward?"<p>

My boy looks up from where he is seated at my kitchen table, guitar in lap, scowling at the pad in front of him as he crosses out lyrics and searches for the words he wants.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I have next week off. It's Spring Break."

"I know," he grins, raising his eyebrows at me.

"Uh, I was thinking …" I sigh, nervous about telling him what I want.

"What's up, Bella?" Edward places his guitar on the table, pushing back in his chair to give me his full attention.

"I was just thinking I'd like to see my Dad," I whisper, keeping my eyes trained on the notebook I've been writing in. Edward is on his feet in an instant, taking a seat beside me on the couch.

"It's just, I haven't seen him since I moved back here, and I miss him. And, he's got no one left. He lost his best friend because of-" Edward's fingers on my lips muffle the end of my sentence.

"Don't. Don't say that it's because of you. Yes, Billy turned out to be a total wanker. That was not your fault." I sigh, flinching as I see the anger snapping in Edward's green eyes.

"But it is on my account, Edward. If it wasn't for me, Dad and Billy would still be really close."

"Yes, Bella, maybe they would," Edward sighs. "But love, do you really think your Dad valued Billy's friendship over your life? Over your happiness? Do you think, given the choice, he'd choose to keep Billy's friendship over you being freed from an abusive relationship?"

"No, I guess not." I shake my head in defeat. "I just hate that this whole situation has cost everyone so much."

"I know," Edward acknowledges, pulling me on to his lap and kissing my cheek. "It's who you are, love. You're selfless. You'd rather suffer in silence than allow anyone else to take on part of your burden. And you don't see that you are worth any cost."

"I don't want to cost anyone anything," I mutter.

"There's often a cost to love, sweet girl. Think about your folks, yeah? Your Dad loved your Mum more than anything, so he let her go. Love is costly. He sacrificed his happiness, for hers."

I remember Dad's words when I asked him about Mom, all those months ago: _"That's what you do for love, Izzy."_

"What if I'm not worth it, Edward?" I ask, closing my eyes as I whisper the words that haunt me to the very depths of my being.

Edward's fingers gently cup my face, stroking my cheeks.

"Look at me, Bella, please."

Slowly, I open my eyes, taking in the intensity of his gaze.

"Bella. You are worth it. Please, don't shake your head at me, love. Listen to me. I can't speak for your father, but I will speak for myself. I need to you to trust me to speak honestly, and believe that I know my own mind, okay, sweet girl? Do you trust me to speak the truth?"

I nod, my eyes locked in Edward's fierce gaze.

"Do you trust me to know my own mind?"

"Yes," I whisper.

"Then believe me, Bella, when I tell you that I love you more than my own life. Believe me, when I tell you that I would sacrifice anything for your sake. I may never have to, Bella, but please, don't for a second believe I wouldn't. Because I would, in a heartbeat, love. And I'd still count it a gain, to have you in my arms."

The fervency of Edward's declaration leaves me shaking and weeping.

"I love you, Edward," I cry. "More than anything."

"I love you too, Bella."

Unable to find sufficient words to express the love and adoration swelling in my heart, I throw my arms around Edward's neck, kissing him with all the fervor and passion I can manage. When I pull back, I'm startled to see the tears streaking down Edward's face. I reach to wipe them away, Edward mirroring my actions as his thumbs sweep away the tears that stain my own cheeks.

Overwhelmed by emotion, I rest my head against Edward's chest. He presses a kiss to my hair, his arms encircling me tightly. I am not sure how long we sit there, delighting in each other's love and affection.

I'm close to sleep when Edward suddenly laughs, the movement of his chest jolting me into consciousness.

"I don't think we finished that conversation, love. You wanted to go see your Dad?"

I nod against his chest.

"Can we go for a few days towards the start of the week?" Edward asks softly, "I, uh, I was going to surprise you, but I made plans for us to go away for a few days later in the week."

"You did?" I sit up abruptly, ducking out from under his chin to look at him in surprise.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, his hands tugging at his hair.

"Where are we going?" I ask excitedly. Seeing my enthusiasm, Edward relaxes and his lips curl up into a smirk.

"It's a surprise, love." Edward laughs as I pout playfully, "As lovely as those lips are, dearest, pouting at me isn't going to work. Though they are incredibly distracting …" his voice drops to a murmur as his eyes drop to my mouth. Softly, he presses a kiss to my mouth, then gently captures my bottom lip between his own. He kisses me deeply for a few moments, before pulling back with a sigh.

"Will you stay tonight?" I whisper, unable to bear the thought of parting after the declarations we have made tonight.

"Of course, sweetheart."

* * *

><p>Dad is thrilled when I call to ask if we can visit, and regret shoots through me for the time I've absented myself from his life. Conveniently, he's got several days off at the start of the week, so Edward and I head to Forks early on Sunday morning. Once we're outside Seattle, I pull over and insist Edward drive. He chuckles, his hand automatically finding his hair as he mutters about the sheer stupidity of driving on the right hand side of the road. I assure him that as Forks is a small town, he'll be just fine.<p>

When we pull up at Dad's place almost three hours later, Edward is still fussing under his breath. I laugh at him, reaching over to ruffle his hair and place a kiss to the top of his head. Edward smirks as I copy the gesture he performs dozens of times a day. Hand in hand and still giggling, we make our way up Dad's path to where he is waiting for us, the door open wide.

Edward releases my hand as I embrace my Dad tightly, whispering my apologies for having stayed away for so long. Dad ignores the hand Edward offers him, pulling him, too, into a fierce embrace. He ushers us inside to where he has some freshly brewed coffee waiting.

"Look, Izzy, I got my own coffee gear," Dad exclaims, waving his arm proudly towards the grinder and Chemex he has set up on his bench. I grin appreciatively as Edward rolls his eyes.

"So what are we drinking, Dad?"

"Uh, it's from Panama. La Esmer … something."

"La Esmeralda? Nice, Dad, I'm impressed."

"Well, I wasn't going to drive to Seattle for a decent cup of coffee," Dad chuckles. Though I know he's just kidding around, his words cut at me, and I frown.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I –"

"Honey, please don't apologize. I understand why you've stayed away, and I don't resent you for it, okay?"

I nod my head, my guilt scarcely assuaged.

"And, Izzy, for what it's worth, seeing how happy you two are, I think it was the right decision to move away."

Edward squeezes my hand as my eyes snap up to meet my Dad's.

"I, uh," Dad coughs, his voice suddenly gruff, "I assume this is serious?" He gestures between Edward and I, his eyebrows rising. Edward smiles softly at me, before he turns to my Dad.

"Very serious, Chief Swan. I love Bella with all my heart, and I intend to show her that every day for the rest of my life."

Dad nods his head, folding his arms across his chest. It's impossible not to see the sincerity in Edward's eyes, to hear it in his voice.

"Good. Then you should probably call me Charlie, son."

* * *

><p>On Monday night, Edward and I head over to see Alice and Jasper, who have invited us over for dinner. As we pull up outside their house, I swear under my breath as I take in the number of cars parked out the front. It's so like Alice to organize a dinner party and not tell me she was inviting a number of other people. Hearing the expletive slip from my lips, Edward looks at me in concern.<p>

"Are you okay, love?"

"Yeah," I sigh. "It's just typical Alice. It looks like she's invited the whole crew over." Edward frowns, surveying the half dozen cars parked in the street.

"Will you be okay, Bella?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Come on." Ever chivalrous, Edward is out of the car and at my door in a flash, extending his hand to me. He wraps an arm around my waist as we make our way toward the house, and I lean into him, grateful for his support.

"Izzy!" Alice's squeal startles me and I cringe back into Edward. I feel him press a kiss into my hair as he keeps me steady.

Alice grabs my hand, dragging me inside excitedly. I grab Edward with my free hand, pulling him after me as my overly exuberant friend announces us to her little party. Choruses of "Hey Izzy, Hey Edward" greet us, and I'm struck by how odd it feels to be called Izzy again. I feel, essentially, like I'm a different person from the girl they think they know.

At some point I lose Edward as I'm dragged from person to person by an annoying pixie that I once considered my best friend. I do love Alice, but I'm really struggling to understand her motivation in inviting all these people here tonight.

"Izzy, sweetie, how are you?"

"Oh, Izzy, I love your dress, wherever did you get it?"

"Izzy, wow, you look fabulous."

I suck it up, smiling and answering the barrage of questions politely, making small talk with people I no longer have anything much in common with. Thankfully, people seem to at least have the sensitivity to steer clear of mentioning Jacob to me. Exhausted from the constant talking I've been doing, after about an hour I excuse myself from the conversation Jessica and Mike have engaged me in, and head the kitchen to grab a drink, and hopefully reclaim my boyfriend.

As I'm about to walk into the kitchen, I hear Edward's voice and I pause at the anger I hear creeping into his tone. I'm forcibly reminded of a similar incident in a rented house in Portland. I hold my breath; memories of Jacob's dismissal of me flooding my mind as I listen to Edward speak.

"Look, Tiffany –"

"Tanya."

"Whatever, I really don't care. I am in love with Bella. I want to spend the rest of my life with her, and no one else, yeah? I am not interested in you. My girlfriend is the most beautiful thing in my world, and I intend to spend every day showing her exactly how much I love her. So would you please, please, take a fucking hint and bloody well leave me alone?"

Edward storms out of the kitchen, nearly colliding with me where I stand, my heart in my mouth. His angry eyes soften as he sees me, and his arms automatically wind their way around my waist, pulling me into his embrace.

"You heard that?"

I nod against his chest, my heart soaring at the words he has just spoken. Edward pulls back and looks down at me.

"Are you upset with me, love?"

"Why would I be? Those things you said about me were beautiful."

"_You're_ beautiful," Edward smiles down at me. "I meant every word, sweet girl. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life loving you."

"I love you too, Edward." Edward leans down, gently capturing my lips with his own.

"Do you want to go, dearest?"

I sigh, looking around at the gathered group of my former friends.

"No, we should stay. I suspect this is the last time I'll see some of these people. Just, don't let Alice kidnap me again, okay?"

Edward chuckles, placing a kiss on the top of my head.

"It would be my very great pleasure to ensure you remain in my arms at all times, sweetheart." I grin up him, tracing my finger along the line of his scruffy jaw. My boy needs to shave again.

"I could get used to being in your arms at all times," I murmur.

"Is that so?" Edward responds softly, his eyes darkening as he inclines his head toward me.

"Okay, people, dinner's ready!" Alice's voice cuts through our moment and Edward groans, touching his forehead to mine.

"A'right, love. Let's get this over and done with."

* * *

><p>Saying goodbye to my Dad on Tuesday afternoon isn't as hard as I thought it would be. He seems quite content, and I have a sneaking suspicion that he's seeing someone. I don't push the issue though; he'll tell me when he's ready.<p>

"Bella, honey, don't stay away so long again, okay?" I grin up at my Dad, amused that within three days he's picked up Edward's nickname for me and started using it.

"I won't, Dad. Take care, okay? I love you." I hug him tightly as he gently pats my back before releasing me.

"I love you too, baby girl. And honey, I'm really glad you've got Edward. I'm pretty sure that boy would throw himself in front of a bullet for you," he murmurs softly.

"I'm pretty sure he would too, Dad," I smile.

* * *

><p>"Sooo … are you going to tell me where we're going?" I giggle, as Edward climbs into the driver's seat. Apparently we're heading wherever it is we're heading tonight.<p>

"Nope!" Edward smirks; arching an eyebrow at me, daring me to protest. "You'll figure it out soon enough, love."

"Edwaaaaaard, tell me!"

"Not a chance, sweetheart."

* * *

><p>"Bella, love, wake up, sweet girl," I must've drifted off to sleep at some point on the drive from Forks back to Seattle. I sit up, startled, looking around in confusion.<p>

"We're at the airport," I state stupidly.

Edward raises an eyebrow at me, a crooked smirk playing on his lips.

"We're flying somewhere?"

"I believe that's usually the reason one comes to an airport," Edward chuckles.

I contemplate asking him where we're flying, but I decide to let him have his surprise. I adore this silly, sweet man and I can see the excitement in his bright green eyes.

Edward leads me towards the terminals, dragging a suitcase that he somehow managed to sneak into the car on Sunday without me noticing. Before we enter into the terminal, Edward catches my hand and spins me around to face him.

"I can't keep it a secret once we get in there, so I'd rather tell you myself, love." Edward scrubs his free hand across his jaw, and I realize suddenly that he is nervous, afraid of my reaction to whatever he's planned. I smile at him encouragingly, motioning for him to continue.

"Bella, sweet girl. I love you. I love you more than anything. But there's so much about you that I don't know. Sweetheart, will you tell me all about the parts of your life I've missed out on? We're going to Phoenix, love. I want to see where you grew up, I want you to show me all the places where your memories were made. And more than anything, I want to see you smiling in the bright sunshine."

Struck dumb by Edward's intensity, I raise my hand to his cheek, smiling as he captures it there.

"I love you, Edward," I finally manage. "Thank you. Thank you."

Edward smiles, relief lighting his features.

"Let's go catch our plane, love."

* * *

><p>When Edward and I arrive back in Seattle five days later, the bond between us has intensified and deepened. Showing him the places of my childhood, giving him that glimpse into my past, has brought us even closer, though how that's even possible is beyond me. We spent the entire time talking, reminiscing, laughing, dreaming, planning.<p>

The scorching sun of the Arizona dessert has burned away everything else, refining us, purifying our relationship. Jacob doesn't matter any more. Edward's troubled past doesn't matter any more. The months we spent apart don't matter any more. Peripheral issues have been smelted away, like the dross from a lump of gold. All that remains is overwhelming, intense, binding love.

* * *

><p><strong>Thoughts?<strong>

**My infinite thanks to stella luna sky, PhoenixRN, and vodkavamp76 for recommending _What I Wished For_. I'm humbled by your faith in this story.**

**Shell xx**


	27. MayJune 2012

**Chapter 22: May - June 2012.**

**A/N: Okay, so I'm nervous as hell about posting this.**

* * *

><p>Early in May, Edward surprises me with brunch on a Sunday morning. We're establishing a comfortable routine on our blossoming relationship; though it's not quite been two months, in some ways it feels as though we've been together for years. Edward, unsurprisingly, is an incredibly thoughtful boyfriend.<p>

"So, what's this all about, hun?" I ask as he places all sorts of baked goods in front of me and pours me a cup of tea.

"I wanted to talk to you about something." He grins, though I can see the nervousness in his eyes.

"I'm listening," I assure him, as I take a bite out of my croissant, sighing as my mouth fills with the buttery, flaky pastry. I've regained all the weight I lost in his absence, but I have a slight suspicion that Edward is trying to fatten me up even more.

"So, what's on your mind, Edward?"

"Sex."

My eyes widen as I take in the slight smirk that twists his full lips. Though we've spent a lot of time 'snogging,' as Edward calls it, he's been quite insistent about rebuffing my efforts to progress things any further.

"Go on," I murmur, my voice shaky.

"Love, I'm still not convinced we're ready, but I think it's essential we talk about it early, and not whilst we're caught up in the moment, yeah?"

"Okay," I swallow the mouthful of croissant quickly, nodding in agreement. It's pretty much what Dr Denali advised, and I can't help but be proud of my sweet boy and his level head.

"Firstly, sweetheart, uh, I've been tested, I want you to know I'm clean, yeah?"

"Okay," I mumble, "Even though I've only been with, uh, Jake, um, I got tested a little while ago, and everything was clear. And I, uh, I guess, the implant is good for another eighteen months, so, you know, I'm safe."

"Okay, that's good, sweetheart. I'm happy to use condoms if you want me to."

I think about this for a while, unsure how I feel about it.

"I, uh, if you want to, I don't mind, but I don't really think it's necessary. I mean, I'd, uh, I'd rather you didn't. I, I want to be … close to you."

"I feel the same way, love, but I wanted that decision to be yours."

Edward sighs, resting his elbows on the table, cupping his chin in his hands. He studies me for a moment, and sensing his anxiety, I reach across the table, pulling one of his hands away from his face and twining my fingers with his.

"Bella … Love, do you understand why I'm hesitating?"

"Because we've only been together two months?"

"No, sweet girl," he sighs, his free hand pulling his hair away from his face. "It's not about how long we have or haven't been together, dearest. I've been in love with you for almost two years, and I know I'll never love anyone else. You know this. My hesitation has nothing to do with not being sure of you, yeah? You know that I want you, _that_ way, don't you, love?"

"Uh, I guess," I shrug, looking at our hands.

"Bella, look at me, please," I comply, looking up into Edward's green eyes, bright as they are with the intensity of his emotion. "Love, trust me, I want you. Don't doubt that, yeah? Believe me, I want you. I ache for you."

"I want you too," I whisper.

"Bella, I'm terrified." The pain in Edward's voice causes me eyes to snap back up to meet his. "Love, you've only ever been with Jacob, and from what you've told me it was an awful, painful experience that you were usually manipulated, coerced into. Love, you didn't want it; that's essentially … Sweetheart, I'm utterly terrified of hurting you, of scaring you, or triggering bad memories. That's why I've been putting it off; I'm terrified that taking that step will make you think of _him_."

Oh my dear sweet boy. I had no idea of the anguish Edward is dealing with as he wrestles with what he wants but is scared to take.

"Edward, I'm scared too. As you said, my only experience is with Jacob; essentially just lying underneath him, wishing he'd just hurry the fuck up … no pun intended. And I know that you've been with lots and lots of women; some of whom you don't even remember." Edward's face falls at my words, and I hastily continue, wanting him to understand my fears are not what he thinks they are.

"I'm not judging you for that, Edward, I understand why you went down that path. It doesn't disgust me; it breaks my heart that you were in that much pain. But I'm still scared, hun; I'm scared my inexperience will make me a bad lover, that I won't be enough, that you won't ... that you won't _enjoy_ me …" my voice trails off, and I sigh deeply, fighting away the tears that are threatening to fall.

In a flash, Edward is around the table, kneeling in front of me.

"Shh, love. It's okay. Sweetheart … "

"Edward, don't you trust me to tell you if you hurt me? To tell you if things become more than I can handle?"

Edward looks up at me, his gaze soft, understanding lighting his features.

"Yes, love, I trust you," he sighs, a hand scrubbing across his jaw. "Bloody hell … I'm a stupid git, aren't I?"

"No, my love, you're thoughtful and sweet, and I know that you're just trying to look out for me, but Edward, you've got to trust _me_ to know my own mind, and to tell you if I'm not coping."

Edward sighs, nodding his head as he acquiesces. He stands back up, pulling me up and into a fierce embrace. Gently, he pulls my face up and captures my lips in a brief but intense kiss.

"For the record, love," he whispers, his voice husky, "there's not a chance that I won't … _enjoy_ every inch of you."

* * *

><p>We have no chance to put Edward's theory to the test as May speeds onwards. As we approach the 19th, I can feel myself begin to shut down emotionally. I withdraw from Edward, hating that I'm doing it, but not knowing how to deal with the anniversary of my leaving Jacob. Nightmares plague me, and I relive Jacob's violence each night for several weeks. I'm barely managing to make it to my classes and workshops, the lack of rest catching up with me quickly. It's terrible timing, as all of my major projects are due within a week or two. How I manage to get them all done, I have no idea.<p>

Edward tries; he alternates between giving me space, and forcing the issue, and I can see that he is at his wits' end trying to be what I need. By the time June 1st, the anniversary of Jacob's death, rolls around, I'm a complete mess. I spend the day hiding under my bed covers. Edward finds me there and simply climbs in with me, tangling our limbs, and allowing me to cling to him desperately.

When the awful day finally passes, when morning dawns, bright and clear, we finally crawl out from the cocoon of blankets we've been hiding in. I don't protest when Edward begs me to make an extra appointment with Dr Denali. He drives me himself, too concerned for my well-being to even complain about the absurdity of US traffic conventions as he drives.

Dr Denali and I talk around in circles, hashing over my guilt again and again until I'm close to tearing my hair out in frustration.

"Isabella, I'm trying to understand. What, exactly, would you wish differently, had you the choice?"

"NOTHING!" I yell, the end of my tether reached. "That's the fucking problem. I'm happy! I have a boyfriend who loves me, who I desperately want to sleep with if he'd only stop treating me as though I were made of glass. I'm studying something that captivates me, and I'm living in a city I love. In short, I'm thriving. My life is fantastic; I wouldn't change a thing ... And Jacob is dead. Buried under six feet of earth, rotting away. Don't you think there's something wrong with me being so bloody content, only one year after he died?"

"Why Isabella? Why don't you deserve to be happy? Jacob's death was tragic, an accident. You know this. Yes, it happened close to the time you left him, fleeing an abusive relationship. Did you deserve that relationship? Did you deserve the abuse?"

"No," I mutter, folding my arms across my chest.

"Did you convince Jacob that wearing a safety harness was unnecessary?"

"No. Okay, no! I know leaving him was right, I know his death wasn't my fault. I just, it just feels wrong to be so damned happy!"

Eleazar folds his hands in his lap, smiling slightly.

"Isabella. You're happy. You've been managing your depression well; you are, as you say, thriving. Let yourself just be, Bella."

I look at my lap sheepishly, "I'm kinda making a fuss of nothing, huh?"

"No, Isabella. You've been through a lot, and it's completely understandable that you're conflicted over the joy you've been able to find. My advice to you is simple; just enjoy it. Embrace the things that make you happy; be thankful for them, be amazed by them, but don't feel guilty for them. Life is hard. You'll suffer more, make no mistake, everyone does. So, enjoy the peace you've found. And please, go look after that man of yours before he paces a hole through my waiting room carpet."

I'm not surprised to see Edward on his feet, his hands in his hair, when I exit Eleazar's office. He looks up, concerned, just in time to see me jump into his arms, pulling his face to my own. My legs wrap around his waist and he stumbles, caught off guard by my actions.

"I love you." I tell him, a smile stretching my face.

"I love you too, sweetheart. Bella, you were yelling and … Love, are you okay?"

"Yeah, Edward, I really am. But, uh, can we go to Forks please? I have something I need to do."

An hour later, we pull into the parking lot at the Forks cemetery. I dig in my bag for something, before I turn to Edward, who is looking at me warily, as though he expects me to explode at any point.

"I'll just be a few minutes, okay?"

I quickly find Jacob's headstone, flowers have been laid at it recently, the anniversary of his death remembered by friends or family. Carefully, I place my wedding bands on the headstone, in amongst the other trinkets that have been left by mourners.

"Hey Jake," I sigh. "It feels weird to be here … I feel like, I don't know. Did I ever really know you? I wish I could understand why you were the way you were. I mean, I get it; I get that your Dad manipulated you and the rest of your family, but dammit Jake, why the hell did you feel I deserved to be treated that way?"

I heave another sigh, looking down at the earth that contains the boy who was once my greatest friend.

"I don't really understand, Jake. I never will. I'm so sorry that you needed to make me feel small to make yourself feel powerful. But you know what? I forgive you. I'm letting go, Jacob. I'm moving on. I'm happy … Goodbye Jacob."

When I climb back into the care, I reach across and take Edward's hand.

"I'm okay, my sweet man, truly. And I love you, so much. I know the last few days have been awful, but you've been amazing, my love. Thank you."

"Anything for you, love," is Edward's answer. "Let's go home."

* * *

><p>June 20th, I learn, is Edward's birthday.<p>

How do I commemorate the birth of the man I love more than my own life?

A simple brunch with Rose and Em, that's crashed by only three fans and two photographers, then dinner out with Carlisle, Esme and Katie, who flew in to surprise Edward. My nervousness at meeting the Cullen family proves to be unfounded; they are warm and generous, and accept me easily. Carlisle and Esme greet me gently, offering me warm hugs and soft words of welcome and love. Katie's approval of me is far more enthusiastic and boisterous. She chatters non-stop, and I have to get her to repeat herself a few times – the combination of her rapid speech and her accent making it difficult for me to keep up.

"Oh, lovey, look at you! Ooh, you're just adorable. I love this dress! Gorgeous. Eddie, I love her. Marry this one, yeah? Then move back to London and make beautiful babies, and I can be your nanny, yeah? Auntie Katie, I like the sound of that! Oh, and look at you, Edward, goodness me, I can see your face! Lovey, I love you even more for managing to get my brother to shave. I don't think I've seen him clean-shaven since I started kindergarten!"

"Katie –"

"Oh hush, Mummy, it's alright. Bella's going to be family. Can't you see it? Look at them," she smirks, her resemblance to Edward striking. "Watch the way they look at each other. They have forever written all over their faces."

Esme sighs as Carlisle chuckles. "Katie, love. Settle down."

Katie pouts, winking at me. I can't help but smile, the way Edward's family has taken me into their hearts so readily is incredibly touching. Conversation flows easily as we share a meal; Edward's family are eager to get to know me, so they bombard me with questions until Edward finally reminds them that they'll have years to get to know me, and that they should let me actually finish a few mouthfuls of my dinner between questions.

Esme pulls me aside as we visit the restroom, telling me in her soft British accent, just how delighted she is to see her son so happy.

"Kate is only seventeen, so the good Lord knows she knows nothing of forever, but she's right, Bella. I see it in the way you and Edward look at each other; you two are made for each other." Esme sighs, reaching for my hand.

"My son has struggled through this life, Bella. He's never really 'fit' anywhere; his creativity sometimes disconnects him from reality to the point that very few people truly understand him. But seeing him in your company, dearest: he's a new man. You've grounded him, given him hope and love unconditionally, and he's thriving. Thank you, Bella. Thank you for loving my son." Esme discreetly wipes a tear from my cheek and pulls me into her gentle embrace.

"I should be thanking you," I whisper, "for raising a man whose capacity to love knows no bounds."

* * *

><p>After dinner, Edward and I wander back to my apartment, and I can feel my nerves returning. I'm unsure as to how Edward will receive my gifts to him.<p>

I know he will love the guitar; the silly man's been drooling over it in his magazines for a while now. I've no idea why he hasn't just purchased it, but it did make for an easy gift. It's a beautiful piece, not that I really know very much about guitars. And, when I present it to him, I am delighted by the childlike glee with which he responds. Of course, this means he just _has_ to sit and play for an hour. As much as I adore watching Edward lose himself in his music, I have other plans for this evening.

Edward looks at me, aghast, as I pry his new toy out of his hands.

"Bella, love? What –"

"My love, I wasn't done giving you your gifts. I knew I should have given you that one tomorrow," I chuckle as Edward pouts, looking longingly at the guitar as I place it on the low coffee table.

"It's all yours, Edward, you can play later, okay?"

"Fine," he huffs, looking up at me expectantly. "Well, come on then … presents!"

I smile nervously, and Edward catches my change in mood immediately. He pulls me into his lap, his lips trailing up my neck.

"You're nervous, sweet girl. Why?"

I smile at how well he can read me, and I press a soft kiss to his lips before pulling back to look him in the eye.

"I, uh, I did something, Edward. For you. Well, for me too. And it's not really a new gift, I suppose, it's more just my way of showing what's already true. And, I, yeah … I'm nervous as hell, that you'll think it's too soon, but I know with utter certainty that my feelings will never change, well, they will change but only in the sense that they'll get deeper and stronger … And I'm babbling, because I'm nervous. Just, just let me show you and don't freak out, okay?"

Edward studies me for a minute; his eyes warm as they search my own.

"A'ight, love, let's see it then?" he winks, and I can't help but giggle. Nervously, I move my hands to my shirt, quickly unbuttoning the first three buttons on my blouse.

Edward grabs my wrists, a slight brown creasing his brow.

"Love –"

"Edward," I warn him and he sighs, releasing my wrists.

"By all means, love, go ahead." He winks, wriggling his eyebrows as I shake my head in exasperation. Goodness knows what the foolish boy thinks I'm doing.

I carefully undo the rest of my buttons, and I wait until Edward drags his eyes away from the sliver of exposed flesh before I speak.

"I borrowed the words from you, hun. I, uh –" I shake my head, deciding to show him, rather than try to explain it.

Pulling my blouse carefully to the side, I show him the new ink that now decorates the soft skin just above my left breast, right above my heart. The words are only tiny, though intricately formed.

_**Edward.  
><strong>__**My life, my light, my love.**_

Edward's eyes widen as he takes in the ink, his tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. I watch the emotions as they play out across his face: amazement, gratitude, delight, hope, and then a fierce possessiveness that sends a thrill shooting through me.

"So …" I murmur, starting to squirm as Edward continues to stare at the tattoo.

His eyes snap up to meet mine, and his smile is breathtaking.

"It's beautiful Bella, and a little overwhelming. Seeing my name, those words, written there, graven over your heart … " he shakes his head, apparently at a loss for words. "I love you, Bella, so much." His head drops to my chest, and he presses a gentle kiss to the place where his name marks my skin.

"I love you too, Edward. My heart is yours, it always will be. Happy Birthday, hun." I lean forward in his lap, my open blouse forgotten as I press my lips to his forehead, and then to his lips. This kiss is soft, sweet, promising, binding. Our lips dance together, gentle and reverent.

Pulling back, I look up at my beautiful boy and steel myself. It is time, and I will not be denied any longer.

"Edward, I have one more thing I want to give you."

"What is it, love?"

"Me."

I make my intentions crystal clear as I move my legs to straddle him, pulling his face to my own, crashing my lips to his mouth. Edward responds immediately, matching my level of intensity, grasping me tightly, his mouth plundering, consuming. The moan that escapes me ought embarrass me, but I can't find it in me to care, particularly when Edward responds with his own groan, a deep and guttural sound, that reverberates through his whole body.

Abruptly, I find myself on my back on the couch, Edward hovering over me, his eyes dark and wanting. His mouth descends on mine again, and I snake my hands up his arms, feeling his muscles flex as he holds himself over me. Gripping his shoulders, I pull with as much force as I can muster, causing Edward's arms to buckle, and his body to crash down on mine. Moaning my approval, I continue to devour his kisses, delighting in the feel of his weight pressing down upon me.

When Edward pulls away, gasping for air, I move my mouth to his jaw, across to his ear, and then trail kisses down his throat.

"Fuck, Bella."

Edward hands seek out my own as he rocks his hips into me, the friction causing me to gasp in pleasure. Abruptly, he pulls my hands up over my head, trapping them there. His eyes are dark, feral, needy. He hesitates, wetting his lips as he watches me squirm and writhe underneath him.

"Edward," his name leaves my lips as a whimper, desperate, pleading.

"Tell me what you want, Bella," he murmurs, his voice rough.

"I, ungh, I want you, Edward. I want you to, ohh, have me." I arch up, my body aching with desire.

Edward groans before he drops his face down to close to mine. He presses a kiss to my lips, and begins trailing his lips across my jaw. He bucks his hips into me again, causing another jolt of pleasure to shoot through me. Gently licking and sucking at the soft skin underneath my ear, he trails his kisses down the column of my throat.

The movement of my hips speeds up, and Edward responds, grinding into me as I arch up to meet him. Edward releases one of my hands, tracing the hand he was using to restrain me down the curves of my body, and gently wrapping my thigh up around his hip. Taking advantage of my now free hand, I caress his shoulder and back, before grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging. Realizing what I'm trying to do, Edward releases my other hand and pushes himself back to kneel between my legs. Mesmerized, I watch as he pulls his shirt off quickly, his chest heaving.

I sit up, my hands tracing the newly bared skin, exploring the planes of his chest. My fingers trace through the sparse hair that covers his chest and trails down his stomach. A wicked smirk curls Edward's lips as he looks down at me; my blouse is half-open, exposing a large portion of my abdomen to him. He raises an eyebrow in question, and I nod, biting my lip.

The mood changes instantly, as Edward slowly, reverently slides my blouse off my shoulders, leaving me in only my simple cotton bra. Before I can cross my arms over my chest, Edward captures my hands again, bringing them to his lips.

"Are you truly ready for this, my love?"

"Yes, Edward. Please."

He nods once, before he stands up, pulling me with him. Seeing my confusion, he smiles gently.

"I'm not going to make love to you for the first time on your couch, sweet girl."

I follow, my heart thumping wildly in my chest, as he leads me into my bedroom. He stops in front of the mirror, pulling me against his chest, forcing me to look at my own reflection. I squirm uncomfortably against his arms, but his hands on my hips hold me firmly. Rather than examine my own, flawed figure, I focus on his sea-green eyes. As I meet his intense gaze, my body trembles with a combination of nerves and desire.

Edward wraps one arm around my waist, keeping me in place, and trails the other up my arm, and across my chest, his callused fingertips raising goosebumps in their wake. His eyes never leaving mine, his fingers trace slow circles lower and lower, and I shudder as his fingers swirl across the top of my breasts. My eyes flutter shut, overwhelmed by his gentle caresses.

"No, love, open your eyes: watch," Edward murmurs in my ear, his nose tracing up my neck. Instinctively, my head drops back against his bare chest, exposing my neck to his sweet lips.

Edward's arm moves from my waist, and he gently fingers the clasp of my bra, watching my reflection carefully for any hint of hesitation. He sweeps his hands down my arms, drawing the scraps of fabric away, leaving me exposed, naked to him for the first time. My instinct to cower away is overpowered as I see the desire and worship in Edward's gaze.

"You're so beautiful, Bella," he whispers, his voice shaky with emotion.

His fingers resume their careful tracing, sweeping gently across my bare breasts. A breathy gasp escapes my lips as his fingers continue to dance across my skin, barely grazing my flesh. His large hands gently cup my breasts, and he groans as he feels their weight in his palms, his thumbs carefully brushing over my nipples, causing me to moan and shudder. Abruptly, Edward spins me around to face him, his hot mouth meeting mine in desperation and want. Lips and tongues collide, as need and desire consume us, burning us up from within.

Edward pulls back to suck in deep lungfuls of air, his eyes snapping up to mine.

"Are you sure, Bella?"

"Yes, Edward," I pant, "I want you. Please. I need you. I've already given you my heart; I want you to have my body as well."

I watch as a single tear trails down Edward's cheek, and he pulls me gently toward the bed. Carefully, he sheds us of the rest of our clothes, his eyes watching me intently for any sign of hesitation. He will not see any; I am ready for this. I trust him with my whole heart, my life, and so I do not fear to entrust him with my body. His hand grips my neck gently, and he pulls me in for another searing kiss. He eases me back toward the bed, carefully laying me down against the pillows.

Completely bare before each other, our eyes roam across each other's flesh, drinking each other in. Seeing Edward naked, wanting, is a heady experience. His body gently, carefully, covers my own, and we gasp and murmur words of love to each other between scorching kisses. Edward's gentle fingers explore me tenderly, learning to play me like he would an instrument. I stiffen a little as he explores parts of me that have long been neglected, but he kisses me softly and whispers for me to relax, to let go, to allow him to bring me pleasure. His fingers stroke and tease until I fall apart beneath him, ecstasy overtaking me in a rush of heat.

"Love, are you sure?"

"Please."

Holding my eyes with his own, Edward carefully, slowly, pushes himself inside of me. He joins his body with mine; pushing and pulling, giving and taking, and I am overwhelmed by the knowledge that he is inside me, part of me, one with me. We move together awkwardly, trying to match each other's rhythm. Finally, we are in sync, moving together, and I feel something deep in my belly winding tight.

Edward cries out abruptly, as pleasure and ecstasy consume him. I smile gently as I watch him fall, head thrown back, muscles clenched tight, shuddering in rapture. I am there to catch him, my hands holding his face, kissing, assuring, loving. I cut off his abashed apologies. We have time. We have all the time in the world to explore and practice, to learn each other's bodies, to discover each other's secrets.

Gently, reverently, Edward retrieves a small towel and cleans us up, before he climbs back into bed beside me. We entangle ourselves again; legs entwined, arms embracing, lips meeting softly, fingers caressing, as tender declarations of love and forever are whispered under the blanket of darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, so that was me losing my literary virginity. <strong>***Blushes*.**


	28. JuneJuly 2012

**Chapter 23: June – July 2012**

**A/N: Thank you all so much for setting my mind at ease regarding my first ever venture into writing sexy times. Here's some more … as well as some serious discussions :)**

* * *

><p>I'm dragged into consciousness reluctantly. It's still dark, and a glance at my alarm clock tells me that it's not yet 5am. Why am I awake? Perplexed, I sit up, wrapping the sheets around my naked torso. Naked? Ah … Memories of making love with Edward flood my mind: the intimacy of the moment, the wave of ecstasy his fingers caressed through me, the feeling of being wholly connected, the overwhelming love and joy and completeness I felt watching Edward give himself over to his own pleasure. The small smile that overtakes me fades as I process Edward's absence from my bed.<p>

I slip from my bed, my bare feet padding softly through my flat as I go in search of my love. I can hear very faint music playing, and I roll my eyes as I wander into the lounge room. As I expected, my boy is perched on the couch, his new guitar in his arms. He's plucking out a tune that I assume is one he's in the middle of composing, and he's singing, so very softly. I cock my head, straining to hear the words as they fall from his lips.

_In her blackest night,  
><em>_In her darkest hour  
><em>_My name falls from her lips.  
><em>_Head thrown back  
><em>_Lost for words  
><em>_As ecstasy runs through her veins_

_She lets me see her naked soul  
><em>_She bears her heart for me  
><em>_And she says,  
><em>"_I'm yours, all yours  
><em>_Take what you want  
><em>_I'll give it all to you."_

I smile, shaking my head at the silly, adorable man before me.

"So, my love, it seems you'd rather play with that gift than this one," I murmur, indicating my naked form, as he looks up in surprise. A wicked smirk stretches his full lips as he processes my provocation.

"No, sweet girl, rather, _that_ gift inspired me so much that I needed to come and play with this one, rather than give in to the temptation to wake you up and beg you for another … gift."

"Trust me, Edward, you never need to beg," my voice is low and suggestive, and Edward's eyes darken in response. A small part of my mind is mildly surprised that I seem to be pulling this seduction thing off successfully, but the bulk of my attention is focused on Edward's mouth; his tongue drags across his bottom lip as he surveys my bare figure.

I extend my hand to him, thrilled at the speed with which he divests himself of his instrument and crosses the room toward me. His guitar had hidden from me the fact that he, too, is still unclothed. His hands move to my hips, holding me at arm's length, his eyes caressing my body.

"So beautiful. Look at you, my love, naked, stunning in the moonlight."

I look at the ground, feeling slightly abashed, but Edward's finger curls under my chin, gently forcing me to look into his eyes, which glint in the darkling room.

"Don't hide from me, love." His finger moves from my chin, tracing a line down my throat, between my breasts to my belly. A shudder overtakes me at his gentle touch, and Edward's low, throaty chuckle sends an arrow of desire straight to the core of my being.

His lips are on mine in an instant, a deep groan ripping from his throat as our warm bodies press together, an electric current humming where our bare skin connects. My hands make their way to Edward's hair, tugging him closer as lips and tongues devour. His hands trace the curves of my hips, before abruptly ducking to my thighs, lifting me into his arms. My legs wrap around his waist, pulling myself as close to him as I am physically able, my whimpers of need and desperation muffled by Edward's lips on my own.

Gasping for air, I throw my head back, and Edward's lips find my exposed neck, kissing and sucking with increasing desire. Suddenly, we are in motion and Edward backs me into the wall, his assault on my body unceasing. And yet, even in the midst of this, even in this moment of unspeakable passion and urgency, he is gentle with me, carefully cradling my head and shoulders. I writhe against him, needing friction, needing something to ease the growing ache. Mewling and whimpering, my hips buck against him, groaning in relief when he adjusts his body to line me up with his arousal.

"Please, Edward, please."

"You never have to beg either, love," he whispers, and once again we are moving, heading for the bedroom whilst I continue to rock against him, crying out in need.

"Shh, love, shh. Let me take care of you," croons Edward, as he gently lays me down on my bed, his hands moving over me. His lips follow his fingertips as they trace across my torso, causing me to arch and moan at the intense sensations coursing through me. They travel lower, and soon Edward's talented fingers are stroking and caressing and I feel the coil within begin to tighten. Part of me wonders if I should be embarrassed as I cry out and thrash about on the pillows but it's difficult to focus on anything other than the sensations Edward is drawing from my body. When the wave of pleasure reaches its peak, my entire body bows off the bed, wracked with bliss.

Panting, my body dripping with perspiration, I can feel Edward's gentle touch; soothing me as I float down from the high he has brought me to. Even in the lowlight of predawn, I can see the adoration and love in his dark eyes.

"Come here," I whisper, tugging on his shoulders until his face is level with mine. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, my Bella," he murmurs, ducking his head to join his lips with mine.

Gently, Edward lines our bodies up and reverently, he finds his way inside of me, groaning in pleasure as we unite in this, most intimate of ways. Again, our movements are awkward, trying to match the movement of our hips. I giggle at my lack of co-ordination, and I can feel Edward's chest shake as he chuckles quietly above me. He stills his movements, looking down at me with love and adulation in his eyes.

"Hang on," he whispers, and carefully, he rolls us over so that I am now above him. "Sit up, love."

I comply nervously, feeling exposed as I sit above him, our bodies still connected.

"Don't be shy, love. You have no need to hide. You are beautiful, I love you."

I nod, convicted by the sincerity that sparks in his eyes. Edward's hands grip my hips, and carefully he begins to move me against him. This different position, this new angle, causes me to moan in delight, and soon I take over from Edward in directing our rhythm. Edward's hands wander from my hips to my breasts, causing me to arch in pleasure. My orgasm is unexpected, crashing over me with no warning as I continue to rock over Edward's prone form. I feel Edward's fingers move back to my hips, gripping me firmly as he speeds the movement of his own hips, and then he is arching and groaning, while I watch in open-mouthed fascination.

When his eyes flutter open again, a lazy smile curves his lips, and I can't help but giggle at the look of utter satiation on his handsome face. His smirk becomes wicked as he looks at me, still hovering above him.

"Look at you, sweet girl. Perched above me like a goddess. I want you again. I'll never get enough of you."

I giggle sleepily, easing our bodies apart and laying my head down on his chest. Edward's hands go to my hair, stroking through the long tendrils gently. His lips find my forehead and I sigh happily, a level of contentment I have never before known creeping over me.

"Edward?"

"Yes, love?"

"Were you writing a song about me … uh, having, you know … an orgasm?"

"Uh … Yes and no." I feel the movement of his chest as he sighs beneath me. "I was … inspired by making love to you, but no, love I wasn't writing anything explicit, and it's one I'll never perform –"

"It's okay, silly boy, I'm not worried about that. I'm flattered it was that inspiring."

"Oh Bella, you've no idea, love," Edward growls. I laugh sleepily, nuzzling my head under his chin. "Sleep now, sweetheart. We have forever for me to show you just how much you inspire me."

The sun is streaming through the open curtains of my bedroom when I stir again. Contentedly, I smile, snuggling in tighter to Edward's chest. When I feel the vibrations of his chuckle underneath me, my head snaps back up in his direction. My smart comment dies on my lips as I see the utter joy in my sweet boy's eyes as he regards me. His unadulterated happiness is breathtaking.

"I love you," I murmur, grimacing a little as discomfort creeps into my awareness.

"I love you too. Bella, what's wrong?"

"Uh, it's nothing, I just feel a little gross. Ugh, I just feel a bit sticky," I grimace, wrinkling my nose. Edward smiles and places a kiss on my nose, before he lifts me off him and pulls me out of bed.

"Sorry, love, I should have cleaned us up before we fell asleep again."

"It's okay, I think I'd like a shower though," I shrug. Edward smiles gently, tugging me towards the bathroom.

Once we are clean, dry and dressed, Edward suggests we head out for breakfast. I readily agree, enjoying the warmth of the summer sunshine, and the feel of Edward's hand in mine as we make our way to our favourite café.

* * *

><p>The long summer break means I have no classes and very few responsibilities, which suits Edward and I perfectly as we continue to explore this new dimension to our relationship. As tempting as it is to spend all our time sequestered in the bedroom, my body objects, unused to the vigorous activities I'm subjecting it to. This forces us to spend time talking and dreaming, planning our future, and continuing to learn more of each other.<p>

Edward and Emmett are starting to scout locations for a possible studio, whilst Emmett has some time off between films. Occasionally, I go with them, though I prefer to leave them to it; as much as I enjoy watching Edward's face light up with boyish enthusiasm he imagines all the ways he could utilize the space, my interest in empty warehouses is woefully lacking.

One such occasion is on Wednesday morning, a week after Edward's birthday. Rose suggests I meet her for lunch, rather than travelling to Portland with the boys to look at yet another warehouse.

"Well, hello lassie, 'tis nice of you to join me," Rosalie grins at me as I drop in to the chair beside her. I'm running a little late, Edward and I having got somewhat distracted whilst watching each other dress for the day.

"Sorry, I'm late," I sigh. I'm not sorry at all, and Rosalie winks at me knowingly.

"No, you're not," she smirks, which elicits a giggle from me. She pats my hand gently, "Lovey, it's such a delight to see you two so happy. I take it that things are going well."

My answering smile must be a touch too smug because Rosalie breaks out into a peal of raucous laughter.

"Oh, goodness me, lovey. You cheeky thing. Spill, girl …. Well, don't spill too much, Edward's like a brother, and just …" her beautiful face scrunches up in disgust, causing me to snicker.

"What do you want to know, Rosie?"

"Och, I'm just teasing, Bella. But things are going well, yeah? He's taking good care of you?"

"Of course he is. It's Edward; he can't help himself."

"True," Rosalie rolls her eyes. "And you're feeling okay with the speed at which things are going, lovey? It can't be easy for either of you, given, well, given your history."

I sigh, trying to figure out how to articulate my response.

"It's been fine, Rose, really. Edward's gentle, and hesitant and so very sweet. And I know he was scared because of the way Jacob made intimacy such a traumatic experience for me, but really, he doesn't need to be so concerned. It's been a huge relief to actually take that step together, and to discover more about who I am."

Rose cocks her head as she studies me, and I look for the words to explain the peace and contentment that making love with Edward has brought me.

"I suppose, I've always been ashamed of being frigid. I thought my body didn't work right, and I hated it. Jake pretty much shrugged it off, as something that wasn't his concern. And we're constantly bombarded with images of these strongly sexual women, who are responsible for their own fulfillment and satisfaction, you know? And I felt like an utter failure, defective; like the very essence of my femininity was somehow flawed. And so discovering that things _do_ work how they ought, that I _can_ enjoy intimacy, has been such a weight lifted off my shoulders."

"I can well imagine."

"But it's more than just that, Rose. It's more than just the relief. It's … I didn't know I could love him any more than I did. But each day, I wake up with him beside me, and I love him more than the day before. I don't really understand it; sex pushed me away from Jacob, made me resent him, but with Edward, it's brought us closer, bound us together in a way I would never have believed possible."

Rosalie's smile is gentle as she nods her understanding.

"I don't know lassie, Emmett and I have been together since we were teenagers, and I've never been involved with anyone else. But I would hazard a guess that perhaps sex makes bad relationships more strained, and makes good relationships even better. That's my theory, anyway."

"Makes sense," I say, smiling.

Our food arrives and diverts our attention temporarily. As we tuck in, I frown, noticing a photographer slipping into a seat a few tables over. Rose notices my frown, and follows my gaze, wrinkling her nose when she spots the paparazzo.

"Ugh. Come on, finish up and let's get out of here."

* * *

><p>Edward asks me if I'll come with him to the airport to see his parents and sister off on the 1st of July. I agree easily, and suggest that as it is a Sunday, we have a late breakfast with them before their afternoon flight. Rosalie and Emmett join us, making for an utterly insane experience: thick accents jabbering at break-neck speed whilst I sip on my coffee, bemused. And yet even amidst the rapid-fire conversation, I feel at home, embraced by Edward's family and friends.<p>

I feel a small pang of regret for the friendships of my own that have stagnated due to absence and painful history. I resolve to call Alice up soon; we need to work out the distance and coolness between us. She is my oldest friend, now, and I don't want to lose that. I still don't understand her motivation behind the disastrous dinner party in April; I can't bring myself to believe she had any malicious intentions, but I'm still hurt by her complete disregard for my feelings. Sensing my despondency, Edward's hand seeks out mine, and I smile at the concern in his eyes. He arches one eyebrow, asking silently if I'm okay, and I nod my head once to reassure him that, yes, I am fine.

Not long afterwards, we part ways with Em and Rose, who head back to their apartment, paparazzi in tow. Carlisle, Esme and Katie pile into my SUV and we make our way to the airport. Edward parks, rather than simply dropping his family off, simply shrugging when I look at him in question. I'm a bit baffled by the sheer number of bags that he pulls out of the trunk, and he grins, pointing at his sister, who pouts and rolls her eyes.

"Good heavens, Katie! Did you pack every single item you own?" I ask, amazed. Katie's only answer is a slightly hysterical giggle. Seriously, they have, what, six suitcases between the three of them? They've only been here for a little over a week!

As we make our way into the terminal, I get the feeling I'm missing something as I catch gestures and glances passing between Edward and his family. Frowning, I take in the expression of nervousness on Edward's face, and the smug grin on Katie's. They're definitely up to something.

"What are you up to?" I murmur to Edward, tugging his hand until he stops and turns to face me. He runs his hand through his hair, pulling at it nervously. "And why are you nervous?" I ask suspiciously.

"I ought to know by now that you can read me too well, dearest," Edward chuckles. "Okay, Bella, I planned on surprising you but you'll figure it out in about thirty seconds anyway. Love, we're not just here to drop Mum and Dad off, yeah?"

"We're going somewhere, too?" I ask. "Well, that explains the suitcases, I thought four bags was excessive, even for Katie."

Katie sticks her tongue out at me, as Carlisle and Esme smile fondly at our interaction.

"So, where are we going?" I ask, looking up into Edward's eyes, which sparkle with excitement.

"You can't guess?" he smirks, winking at me. "We're going with them, sweetheart."

"London?" I whisper, shocked.

Yes, we're going to London, though we'll go see the town I grew up in as well, yeah? Phoenix was such a brilliant experience for both of us, so yeah, I dunno, love … I wanted to show you my history as well."

Oh, my sweet boy. Not minding that his parents and sister are but a few feet away, I throw myself into Edward's arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. I kiss him fiercely, trying to convey to this precious man just how much I love him, and his thoughtfulness.

"I still don't know how I could possibly deserve you, Edward, but I love you. I love you so very much," I whisper, my voice catching as I struggle to contain the tears that threaten to fall.

"Don't cry, sweet girl," he murmurs, his arms still holding me tightly. "I love you too, Bella. So very much more than I would have ever believed possible."

"Brilliant!" Katie's voice startles us both back into awareness, and blushing, I unwind my legs from Edward's waist. He holds me close, helping me regain my footing, before he presses a kiss to my forehead and turns to face his family.

"A'right, then. Let's do this, yeah?"

* * *

><p>When we land in London, it is mid-morning, which confuses me, as my body is convinced it's actually the middle of the night. Yawning, I follow Edward's family as we collect our bags and proceed through who knows what kind of checks. Eventually, I slump into a cab in relief, resting my head sleepily on Edward's shoulder. I don't even have the energy to take in the sights of the unfamiliar city as we head to Emmett's flat.<p>

"How come we're not going to your parents'?" I murmur as Edward strokes my hair softly.

"I figured some privacy would be nice," he chuckles. "Em keeps this place for when he and Rose need some time away, and it's empty the rest of the time. The last thing I want is for Katie to be monopolizing you. We'll visit with them, but I need time to have you all to myself, sweet girl."

I nod sleepily at his explanation, already dozing as the taxi weaves through the streets of London.

When we arrive at Em's place, I rouse sufficiently to notice that 'flat' is really not the correct descriptor. It's a penthouse, and a really freaking nice one at that. I help Edward drag our bags inside, before making straight for the enormous bed. As tired as I am, I'm aware of the warmth of Edward's body wrapped around my own, and I drift off peacefully.

Edward wakes me up after only a few hours sleep, wanting to make sure I'll still be tired by time evening falls here in London. I grumble and protest, trying to entice Edward to come back to bed.

"I don't want to get up," I pout, "Come back here. This bed, Edward; it's amazing. Come and lie down here, Edward, come see."

"Love," he murmurs, his voice husky, "if I come back to bed, it won't be to sleep."

My body reacts instantly to his words, and suddenly, I need him. Desperately. I squirm uncomfortably as desire courses through me, reaching for him again.

"Please," is all I can manage, my mind clouded with want.

Edward's face softens immediately, and he leans over me, his long fingers caressing my cheeks, smoothing my hair away from my face. I grab his shoulders and pull him on top of me, moaning in approval when I realize that his body is already responding.

"I love you," he croons, pulling away from me to remove his shirt. Impatient, I kick off my jeans and underwear, before pulling my shirt and bra off and throwing them to the floor.

Once he is undressed, Edward returns to hovering over me, trailing kisses down my throat before his mouth finds my breasts and he begins to kiss and suckle at me until I am writhing, desire so powerful it feels almost painful wracking my body.

"Oh, love, how I adore you. So beautiful," Edward whispers, and immediately, his fingers begin to explore, caressing me where my need is most concentrated. As he continues to stroke and fondle, his lips make their way lower, peppering my belly with gentle kisses.

Just as I feel as though I'm on the verge of imploding, I feel Edward's mouth on me; his lips and tongue working in tandem with his fingers. Before I can succumb to the panic that stirs within me, I am crying out in ecstasy, my head thrashing as the immense wave of pleasure crashes over me, dragging me under.

Edward holds me gently as I resurface, his hands moving to cup my face, his smile soft as he watches my breathing slowly calm.

"You, uh, your mouth, it was …"

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" Edward brow suddenly creases in concern.

"Yes, I'm okay, just surprised. Isn't that, kind of … disgusting, to you?" My face flames red and I avert my eyes from his face.

"Bella, look at me." I comply, my cheeks still burning. "Love, there is nothing about you that disgusts me, okay? It's beautiful, having the privilege of watching you come apart. You are exquisite. And no, dearest, that doesn't disgust me, believe me. Though, I am sorry if I scared you." I smile softly at the sincerity burning in Edward's green eyes.

"You didn't scare me. I, uh, it just surprised me is all." Edward studies me carefully, nodding as he accepts that I'm being honest with him.

"I'm sorry, sweet girl. I find you so incredibly tempting, so enticing."

His lips move across my jaw, and I hesitate briefly before pulling his lips to my own. Strangely, the unfamiliar taste that I find on his lips doesn't disturb me, and very soon I am squirming beneath him once again.

"Edward, please. I want you."

"Always, Bella." Edward groans in appreciation as he gently, carefully connects our bodies again. "Oh, fuck, Bella. You feel so amazing, ungh."

A jolt of pride shoots through me as I watch Edward give himself over to sensation, to the current of pure pleasure coursing between us. I feel the urgency in his movements increase, and I respond, rocking against him as his thrusts increase in pace. We fall into bliss together, clinging to each other as we cry out in delight.

Sweaty, sticky and sated, I look up into Edward's gaze, my heart swelling with love for him.

"I love you," I tell him. "More than anything."

"I love you too," he smiles, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "And I always will."

* * *

><p>Our four weeks in London are amongst the happiest of my life. It's a real thrill to wander around with Edward, laughing at his anecdotes, and seeing the backdrop for not only his entry into the music scene, but the unfolding of his adult life. He humours me by playing a few open-mic nights, just as he did when he was first getting on his feet musically. It's a rare treat to see him playing, just for fun, without any of the pressure he puts on himself when he is on tour.<p>

We visit the pubs he and Emmett used to frequent, even running into a few of his mates from those earlier days. As far as I can tell, they're all named some derivation of Robert, and apparently at least one of them is famous, though Edward just laughs when I blink at him in surprise.

"Seriously, Bella, you haven't seen those vampire movies?"

"Vampires? Heck no, Edward. You know I hate blood, yuck!"

Edward laughs even harder, ruffling my hair before he throws me over his shoulder and carts me back home.

We manage to spend a few days in a small town just outside of Brighton, in the country's south, where Edward grew up. It's amazing to see that even small towns here have such a rich and lengthy history; seeing architecture that has stood for over a millennium completely floors me. Edward cheerfully shows me the canvas against which his childhood was painted; laughing as he remembers his hatred of the small town as a teenager, his longing for the hustle and bustle of a big city.

The more I learn of Edward's past, the closer I am drawn to him, and the greater my conviction is that I want our future. Surprising myself, I realize I want to marry him, I want to have his children, and I want to tie myself to him in everyway possible. After the scars left by my first marriage, I deliberately shied away from the idea when considering my relationship with Edward, but I've come to realize that it's what I desperately want. I know without a shadow of a doubt that Edward will never try to break me the way Jacob did. I know that life with Edward will have its joys and its heartbreak, but I have faith that our love will get us through anything. We've already come through so much; I can't believe that there could be anything, now, that could tear us apart.

* * *

><p>A week before we're due to return to the States, I awake one morning, before dawn, surprised to find myself alone. Concerned, I grab one of Edward's plaid flannel shirts from the floor and slip it on, walking softly through the massive apartment, searching for my love. I find him in the room Emmett uses as a study, his head in his hands.<p>

Apprehensive, I go to him quickly, stroking his hair gently as he continues to study the carpet under his toes.

"Is everything okay, hun?" I murmur, my voice soft in the predawn stillness.

"I have to go see my doctor today," he mumbles, his voice rough.

"Edward, what's going on? Would you look at me, please?"

When Edward lifts his eyes to meet mine, I see fear and anxiety reflected back at me. My heart clenches as I see the pain and suffering in his eyes.

"I need to go see my psychiatrist, love. It's time to review my anti-depressants." I nod my understanding; I'll be seeing Dr Denali in a few months for the same reason.

"What has you concerned, Edward?"

Edward heaves a sigh as before he speaks, and I see a flicker of shame flash across his features.

"I don't want to keep taking them indefinitely. But, it's just, last time I came off them, I crashed spectacularly. It was a proper disaster, yeah? And I'm bloody terrified of the same thing happening. Especially now, when I have so much more to lose."

"More to lose?" I echo, puzzled.

"You, love." Edward's voice drops to a whisper, pain lacing his speech. "I'm utterly terrified that I'll crash again, and that you'll see me for who I truly am, and you won't want me."

"Oh, Edward," I sigh. I pull his head out of his hands and climb awkwardly into his lap. I hold him for a moment, my head resting against his chest. Edward's arms encircle me, holding me tightly to himself.

"My love, would you look at me, please?" I ask, pulling back so I can see his face. Edward complies, his haunted eyes meeting my own. "Listen to me, okay? Hun, if I understand correctly, there's chance that things might deteriorate when you come off the meds. That's not going to make me love you any less, Edward. You know as well as I do that depression is an illness. If you don't cope without the anti-depressants, you just go back on them. There's no shame in that, sweetheart. It's a medical condition, being treated for it isn't shameful. It's responsible."

Edward sighs again, pulling me closer to his chest.

"I know, love. I'm just scared of hurting you; I couldn't bear it."

"Edward, you won't hurt me. I trust you with my life. We'll monitor things carefully, okay? From what I understand, you tried to come off them completely, in one go last time. Hun, you could try just dropping your dosage, easing your way off them. But you know, Edward, even if it's the case that you need to continue taking them for the rest of your life, that's okay too. Your illness doesn't define you. This," I say, placing my hand over his chest, "your heart, your beautiful soul, Edward, those are the things that define you. I know who you truly are Edward, and you are beautiful."

Edward says nothing, but his gentle kiss to my cheek is enough for me to know that he has heard me, that he understands what I am saying.

"I have to have the same conversation with Eleazar in a few months. I'm scared too," I confess.

"Don't be, love. I'll always be here to catch you if you fall."

"Well, then, Edward. You don't need to be scared, either. I'll catch you too."

Promises spoken, we sit in silence, entangled, watching the sun climb over the London skyline. When I finally climb out of Edward's lap and pull him to his feet, the look on his face as his eyes roam over me causes me to blush.

"Fuck, Bella. You look so fucking sexy in my shirt," he groans, his hands gripping the fabric at my waist. "I don't know why, love, but you've never been as desirable to me as you are right now. Standing here, wearing my clothes, your hair all tousled, your lovely brown eyes heavy with sleep. Ungh.. You're so bloody sexy- " Edward cuts himself off abruptly as his lips hungrily seek out my own.

"Bella, love," he pants between kisses. "I want you."

"I'm yours, Edward, always."

* * *

><p><strong>Lots of you wanted them to hop the pond, and violà! I know there wasn't a great amount of detail regarding their time there, but I was more focused on the continuing development of their relationship than any sight-seeing. <strong>

**Thank you to everyone who has read, favourited, reviewed and recommended **_**What I Wished For**_**. I appreciate it so much; you've made my first venture into fanfic a delight. I would guess we're looking at three more chapters, an epilogue and a few outtakes. **

**I love you all so hard.**

**Shell xx**


	29. October  December 2012

**Chapter 24: October - December 2012**

**A/N: I'm excited to post this chapter. Hope you all enjoy it :)**

* * *

><p>I sigh as I stare down at the phone I'm clutching in my sweaty palms. The number is keyed in; all I need to do is press "call." Taking a deep breath, I steel myself and press the appropriate button.<p>

The phone rings a few times before a familiar voice rings down the line.

"Hello?"

"Uh, hi, Alice. It's Bella."

"Uh – Oh, Izzy! Hi, sweetie, how are you?"

"I'm great, Allie. Listen, I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to get my head out of my butt and call you."

"I'm not going to lie, Izzy. It kinda sucks. I've been leaving messages for weeks now."

"I know, I'm sorry. We were overseas for a bit, and then uni started back, and Edward and Em have just started their own label … But really, I have no excuse. I'm sorry, I was scared."

"Scared?" Alice sounds puzzled, and I sigh heavily.

"Yeah. I mean, it's dumb, we've been friends forever, and I don't know … You were there for me through all the rubbish with Jake, and then I just skipped town and made no effort to stay in touch, and when we did catch up it was never just the two of us … I'm so sorry, Alice."

"I get it, Izzy. I understand why it's hard to come back to Forks."

"It's not just that, Alice. The last two times I've seen you, Tanya's made things pretty unbearable for me, and I don't know, I suppose I sort of blamed you for bringing her. I'm sorry, I know it's not your fault she's got some bizarre grudge against me, as well as a thing for Edward."

"I'm sorry - what? What the hell are you talking about, Iz? I know she said some pretty awful things to you when we came to visit last year, and believe me, Ange and I gave a really hard time about it on the way home. But, Izzy, despite what she said in your Dad's kitchen that day, I doubt she was serious about chasing Edward."

"Alice, she's been pretty persistent in propositioning him."

"You're joking?" Alice sounds shocked, and angry. Whether that anger is directed at Tanya or myself, I'm not sure.

"No, I'm not joking. I mean, I could almost understand it the first time, he's pretty bloody sexy, and it's not like Edward and I were together then. But her timing was just despicable. Coming over whilst she thought I was still at the funeral? I was so mad, Ali."

"The first time?" Alice's voice sounds faint, weary.

"Uh, yeah, the second time was at your place," I mumble. "When Edward and I _were_ dating. Uh, he wasn't impressed."

"Well, shit. She's a stupid little bitch," she sighs. "Anyone with one functioning eye can see that that boy is head over heels for you. I'm guessing he told her to fuck off."

"Ah, yeah, pretty much in those words, too."

"I'm so fucking sorry, Iz," Alice sighs. "I know coming back here must have been hard enough, without that. The whole reason I invited everyone over was that I wanted everyone to see the changes in you; how happy you were with Edward. Billy fucking Black has been pretty persistent in trying to paint you in a pretty bad light, and Jacob as a victim. You know, every time there's a tabloid picture of you guys out and about with Emmett McCarty or his wife, he makes sure everyone hears about how you left Jacob and ran off with Edward. And, well, I just _knew_ if people saw how much Edward had drawn you out of your shell, and how different you were now that you're in a loving, happy relationship; then they'd surely see that you didn't have that with Jacob. I just wanted everyone to know the truth, Izzy."

I sigh at the news Billy is still trying to tarnish my name. I'm not really surprised, but part of me hoped he'd be able to let things go with time. I guess that's me just being optimistic to the point of foolishness.

"Oh, Allie. Hun, I had no idea. I couldn't understand why you invited all those people over. I just wanted to see you and Jasper, I didn't realize you were trying to defend me like that." A few tears slide down my cheek as I contemplate all the distance I've put between us, when really, Alice was just trying to be a good friend.

"I understand, Iz. I was hurt, but I can understand why, now. I just wish you'd told me sooner." Alice sighs, "I really miss you, Isabella."

"I miss you too, Alice. I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry, too. Now, don't think I didn't hear you say that you've been overseas? Where did you go?"

I smile at Alice's quick forgiveness; we've been friends for a long time now, and I know that when she's over something, it's dealt with. She's not the type to continually bring up past conflicts and dredge up old grudges.

"We went to London for four weeks. And then we spent another four weeks in Australia."

"WHAT?" Alice squeals down the phone as I cringe away from the noise. "Okay, girlie, you need to give me more details than that."

"Well," I chuckle. "The whole thing was a surprise. Edward took me to the airport to put his parents on their flight home, and then told me we were going too. So we went to England, to see where he grew up, which is this tiny little town down in the South, and we spent a lot of time in London, which is where he moved as soon as he finished school. It was pretty amazing, you know, almost, _seeing_ his history. And then, as an early birthday present, he took me to Australia to see Mom. I hadn't seen her since Jake and I got married, yeah? And I missed her so much. Edward organized it all with her, without telling me; he packed all our gear, and organized everything. So, we spent two weeks with Mom in this crazy, beautiful hippy town that she and Phil live in, and then we spent a week in Sydney, and a week in Melbourne, just exploring. It was amazing." I can't help but smile as I'm bombarded by the memories of our two months travelling together.

"Oh my goodness, Izzy!" Alice squeals. She begins shooting rapid-fire questions at me about all the different places we visited, and I'm still filling her in when Edward comes home, almost two hours later.

He kisses me on the top of the head, smiling softly when he sees me laughing and chatting. I grin up at him, and he shoots me a cheeky wink.

"Hey, listen, Allie, I've got to go, alright? But I'll talk to you soon. We'll have coffee or something soon, okay?"

"Youbetchya. Jazz and I will come out to Seattle soon, okay? And Izzy, thanks for calling, sweetie. I'm so glad we could sort everything out."

"Me too, Al. I love you."

"Love you too, Izzy."

Heaving a sigh, I throw my phone down on to the couch, before I stand up, stretching out my back. I can hear Edward tuning his guitar, and I wander into my bedroom to see what he's up to. I find him sitting in the chair I use for sewing, his guitar in his lap. His eyes are closed as his fingers move gently over the strings, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Recognizing that he's in song-writing mode, I leave him to it, wandering back into the kitchen to start preparing dinner. I huff a bit as I contemplate the slightly wilted vegetables in the crisper: I miss having a vegetable patch. I miss having more space. Though Edward is still leasing his own flat, it's not unusual for him to sleep here several nights a week, and between his guitars and the associated paraphernalia that seems to have migrated up to my apartment, as well as my ever increasing stash of fabrics and sewing gear, this place is starting to feel far too cramped.

I begin to wonder if it's too soon for us to contemplate moving in together, officially. We could find somewhere with more space; a house with sufficient space for a music room for Edward, as well as a study and sewing space for me. Somewhere we can make _our_ home; start afresh, together. Somewhere we can raise a family, when we get to that stage.

As I ponder this, I set a pot of master stock to boil, quickly bring together some green tea dough, and throw some pork, snow peas and carrots in the food processor with a bunch of spices. I'm spooning the meat mixture into the little circles of dough and quickly shaping them into dumplings when I hear Edward's footsteps approaching.

I continue to fold the dumplings as his arms snake their way around my waist. Edward rests his chin on top of my head, and I can't help but smile at the way we fit together so perfectly.

"What are you making, love?"

"Green tea dumplings."

"Mmm, do you need a hand, sweetheart?"

"Nope, they're nearly all done. I just need to steam them when we're ready to eat."

"Sorry, I didn't help, love. I just had to get that song out whilst the lyrics were in my head."

"It's fine, hun. Did you finish it?"

"Yeah," Edward sighs. "It's probably rubbish, but it's done."

Wiping my hands on a wet cloth, I turn to face him, still encircled by his arms.

"I'm sure it's not rubbish, Edward. What's it about?"

"Family. I, uh, I was watching these kids play down at the park earlier, yeah? They were twins, I think, maybe about three? I dunno actually, but they were about this big," Edward indicates with his hand how tall the children were and I can't help but smile. "And they were running around crazy, yeah? As little kids do. Their mum was chasing after them, and she was, I dunno, like ready-to-pop pregnant. Huge. And she looked bloody well exhausted, but she had this huge smile on her face. And I wondered what that was like, why she looked so happy when she clearly needed a good lie down. So, I got thinking, and I dunno, the words came, then the melody just started flowing, and I wrote a song."

I smile up at my sweet musician, once again awed by his talent. Without even hearing the song, I know it will be moving, simply from what he has told me of its inspiration. Edward's most beautiful songs are those that come from the place of his deepest emotions.

"Bella –"

"Edward –"

Grinning up at Edward, I motion for him to speak first.

"I want that, so bad, yeah?" he whispers, "With you. I want to see your belly get all huge with our baby inside. I mean, not straight away, but I want it, one day."

Edward looks at me nervously, as though fearful of my reaction. I can see the moment he processes the smile stretching my lips, because he puffs out a deep breath and places a kiss on my nose.

"I want that too, Edward," I smile, reaching up to cup his cheek. "You know, I was just thinking … " I pause, biting my lip. "Well, along the same lines, I guess. But I was thinking this place is too small for two people."

Edward's eyes are soft as he looks down at me.

"Yeah? You want to move in together, like, for real?"

"Yes, Edward. I mean, I know we haven't been dating for that long in the scheme of things, but so what? I look at you, and I see the rest of my life. I see marriage, and a family, and getting old and wrinkly together. The details will come in time, but I'm ready to put the past to bed, and start our life together. I don't want to ever have to say goodbye to you again, even if it is just for the night."

Edward's smile takes my breath away; the joy and adoration that shine in his green eyes causes my heart to skip a beat.

"Yeah? You're not terrified of the idea of marrying again? I, uh," Edward's hand finds the back of his neck, nervously rubbing at his hair, "I wondered if you'd have sworn off the idea altogether? And I wouldn't have minded, love. Not in the slightest. It wouldn't change my commitment to love you every single day of my life."

"It took me a while to admit to myself that I wanted it," I acknowledge, smiling slightly. "But I'm not scared, Edward. In time, yes, I want to marry you, to tie myself to you in that way. I have no fear that marriage will turn you in to Jacob, Edward. You need to know that. That fear has never once crossed my mind. You have never shown me anything but love, compassion, gentleness and kindness. I've already given you my heart, my body, my hopes and dreams; making that a legal declaration doesn't scare me at all."

Edward smiles softly at me, before his lips touch my forehead gently.

"I love you, Bella. So much."

"I love you too, Edward. Forever."

* * *

><p>In November, Edward heads back into the studio to record a new album. This time, though, he's recording in Portland, and it's his own studio; he'll be the first artist to record under his and Emmett's new label, Volturi Records. They've already signed a number of artists, and though Em and Edward keep their fingers on the pulse, they have hired Leah to manage a lot of the business. Though Edward would normally want to head out on tour with a freshly minted album, he decides to put it off until June, when I will have finished up my MFA and can go with him. I'm excited to have the opportunity to travel the country with him, even if it is two years later than we originally planned.<p>

Whilst juggling all the writing I'm doing for my course; I've also made a start on a novel. A few threads of ideas that have been floating around in my head for a while have began to weave a story that I feel almost compelled to untangle, to have it knit together on the page. Though Edward hints he'd like to read it, I've been delaying him, wanting to have the first few chapters polished before I show it to him.

It's for this reason that I'm pecking away at the keyboard on my laptop on an unseasonably cold morning in the middle of November. The words are flowing freely this morning, despite my absurdly slow command of the QWERTY keyboard.

As I type, I sway gently to the music floating through the house. I've set it to my "boys with sexy voices" playlist, which contains Edward's albums, obviously, some Jeff Buckley, City and Colour, Bobby Long, James Vincent McMorrow, Glen Hansard, Matt Corby, Joshua James and a few others. I'm humming along as I work; the music inspiring me and fuelling the furious torrent of words flowing from my fingertips.

As I save my current chapter, I close my laptop, but remain seated at the kitchen table, my hands wrapped around what must be my seventh cup of tea this morning. One of Edward's older EPs begins to play, and I smile as I sing along with his beautiful voice. For all the time we've spent together, the many times Edward has sung and played just for me, and the dozens of times I've seen him on stage; I've never become desensitized to the timbre of Edward's voice. I am still able to marvel at the depth of emotion he can convey, his voice almost velvety in its rawness. Just as his callused fingers are also capable of the most tender of touches, so his rasping, rough-hewn voice caresses his lyrics with an almost silk-like sensuality.

Losing myself in his finely woven melodies, my voice wandering around his deeper one, I don't hear Edward come in until a heaving sob echoes through the room. Startled, I am out of my chair in a flash, just in time to see Edward fall to his knees, tears streaking down his face.

"Edward? What's wrong? Are you okay?" Moving quickly to kneel in front of him, I clasp his face in my hands, frantically trying to wipe the tears from his cheeks. "Are you hurt, love?"

"No," he chokes out, a watery smile playing on his lips. "Happy tears."

"Edward? Hun, really? Are you sure you're okay?"

Edward nods his head quickly, brushing away the tears as they continue fall. His arms reach for me, pleading, and I pull him close, tucking his head against my neck. I feel his chest shake as silent sobs continue to wrack him. When they ease, I pull back to study his face. His green eyes are rimmed with red, and yet they sparkle with a joy so pure it robs me of breath.

"Edward? What happened, my love?"

"I'm sorry to scare you, dearest," he rasps, his voice still thick with tears. "I was just a little overwhelmed, sweetheart."

I frown, puzzled; clearly there is something that I'm not understanding.

"I just came back, love, and you were singing. Sweet girl, do you know I've never heard you sing? Ever? And you were sitting there, so happy and joyful, your pretty little voice dancing with mine, and it just overwhelmed me, yeah? To see you so whole, so content, so perfect; it was breathtaking." Edward breaks off, taking my hands in his own, his eyes studying me seriously. "There was a time I despaired of that, Bella. I remember, so vividly, how broken you sounded the night you finally confessed the extent of your depression. I don't know if I ever told you, but I had a dream about you that night. You begged me to call you, and I woke up and dialed your number without even stopping to question it. The desperation in your voice, Bella, it broke my heart. It's haunted me for a long time."

I'm surprised to hear this, Edward has never mentioned his dream before, but I distinctly remember the conversation, sobbing as I confessed to him that all the beauty had been stripped from my life. I squeeze his hands in my own, encouraging him to continue.

"It's just, utterly amazing to me, sweet girl, the joy that radiates from you. Not only have you grown and healed and found happiness again; now you travel through this life, brightening everyone else's lives. It's enchanting, love. And I suppose, seeing you singing, losing yourself in my music; it just hit it all home to me."

Overwhelmed by the depth of Edward's love for me, I am lost for words. I settle for the three that matter more than any others.

"I love you."

"I love you, Bella. Really, I'm sorry to have frightened you."

"It's okay, my sweet, silly boy. Obviously my singing must be pretty bad if it brought you to tears." Edward rolls his eyes at my self-deprecation, pulling himself up off the floor before offering me his hand.

"You're sure you're okay, Edward? I know you've been doing well on the reduced dose, but –"

"Love, I'm fine. This is not my illness talking, yeah? I'm happy; overwhelmingly so."

I nod, accepting that Edward would not lie to me about this, and reach up to grasp his hand. He pulls me carefully to my feet, kissing me softly, before he pulls away, his hand still gripping mine. Instead of guiding me to the couch, as I expect, he leads me towards the bedroom, where gently, he begins to slide my thick woolen cardigan off my shoulders.

We make love gently, joyfully, giving and taking pleasure from each other until we fall into bliss as one.

* * *

><p>At Christmas time, Edward and I head to Forks to celebrate with Dad. My earlier suspicions are confirmed when Dad, moustache aquiver, introduces us to his girlfriend, Sue. Sue is a social worker whom Dad met several times in his official police capacity, and he finally summoned the courage to ask her for coffee a few months ago. They've been seeing each other since. She's lovely; warm, and friendly, chatty and confident, and she seems to balance out Dad's more reserved nature really well. It warms my heart to see Dad taking the risk of putting his heart on the line. After Mom left, Dad had pretty much resigned himself to being alone for the rest of his life, and it's such a joy to see him opening his heart again.<p>

Of course, being back in Forks comes with its share of annoyances. When Dad, Sue, Edward and I head to the local diner for a meal a few days before Christmas, the first person we run into is one of the last we want to see. Only a few minutes after we take a seat, a familiar mass of strawberry curls suddenly appears above Edward's shoulder.

"Hello there, Edward," purrs a sickly sweet voice. I have to come to the conclusion that Tanya is either completely delusional, or thicker than a concrete slab, given the fact she seems totally unaware of the sparks of fury that flash in Dad and Sue's eyes as she leans on Edward's shoulder.

Edward doesn't even spare her a glance, instead, turning his head to face me, he winks cheekily, a wicked gleam in his eye, and I cock my head at him in question.

"Charlie, I'm really sorry about this," he grins, shooting a brief glance in Dad's direction.

Dad raises an eyebrow, before motioning for Edward to continue in whatever crazy scheme he's concocted. Smirking, Edward turns his full attention back to me, his hand caressing my cheek. I catch one glimpse of Tanya's face as her expression flits from smug self-satisfaction to pure jealousy before Edward's lips are on mine and I am lost, aware of nothing but the gentle sweetness of his kisses. The moan that escapes from Edward's throat is totally inappropriate given our rather public location, but I honestly can't find it in me to care.

I'm vaguely aware of the sounds of Tanya's frustrated voice trying to gain Edward's attention, Dad's gruff response, and a surprisingly vicious sounding interjection from Sue, but the bulk of my attention is on the sweet boy kissing me. Unthinkingly, my hands move to his hair, tugging gently. Edward's lips curve against my own, before his tongue slides into my mouth, and I can't help the whimper that escapes me as his playful kiss quickly becomes sensuous and passionate.

"Edward! Bella! Enough already!" Dad's voice permeates my consciousness and I pull back from Edward abruptly, blushing fiercely. Edward chuckles lowly, a slight pink colouring his cheeks also.

"I think you made your point kids, she left about five minutes ago."

I look at Dad in shock and embarrassment, but immediately relax when Sue elbows him in the side and I notice his moustache twitch in amusement.

"What on earth is that girl's deal?" asks Sue, whose protective concern touches me. She hardly knows me, but clearly, as I matter to Charlie, I now matter to Sue.

"She's slightly obsessed with Edward," I shrug. "I can't blame her, but she really needs to learn to back off."

Edward shakes his head at me in amusement.

"What? You're incredible. You're sweet and sexy, handsome, talented, and the most tender-hearted person I know!"

"Thank you, love. But she's not actually interested in me, sweet girl."

"Well, she's certainly fooled me."

"Bella, I meet girls like her every time I perform. She's interested in my connections, not me. She's got absolutely no interest in me as anything other than a stepping stone."

I frown at Edward's matter-of-fact tone.

"It's true, love, as unfathomable as it is to you. I get propositioned frequently by women who just want to have their picture splashed across a tabloid magazine."

Charlie sighs, drawing my attention away from Edward.

"He's probably right, Bells. You guys are photographed almost weekly –"

"Wait, what?"

"Bella, love, you know that – you've seen the photographers when we're out with Em and Rose."

"I know that, Edward. What I want to know is, since when does my Dad read tabloid magazines and look at celebrity gossip!" I can't help but giggle at the very thought.

Dad's eyebrows rise as Sue starts giggling, winking at him.

"Ladies, I'm Police Chief in a tiny town where not a lot happens; what else is there to do? Whatever. I'd say that woman will probably leave you both alone now, anyway."

"Why, what on earth did you say?"

"Nothing untrue," Dad shrugs, winking at me as I frown at him.

"Hey there, Isabella," interjects a new voice, and I barely manage to restrain myself from rolling my eyes as I see Jared standing where Tanya was only a few minutes prior.

"Bloody hell," mutters Edward, "is there a queue outside or something?"

"Hi, uh, Jared, right?"

"Yeah, listen, I was wondering if I could have a word?" he asks, shooting me a wink that I assume he intends to be sexy.

"You can say whatever you need to right here, Jared," I sigh, my patience wearing thin.

"Uh, right," he mutters. "Look, I was just wondering if you wanted to catch up for a coffee whilst you're in town?"

"No, not really," I state, flatly. Jared looks momentarily stumped at my answer. "Jared, have you met Edward? Edward, Jared used to work with Jacob. Jared, this is Edward, my boyfriend."

Jared grins easily as he shakes Edward's hand.

"Yeah we met a few Christmases ago, right? So, boyfriend, huh? You work fast, man."

Edward raises an eyebrow at him, a slight smirk playing at his lips, but remains silent.

"I mean, it's not even been, what eighteen months and you guys are nearly fucking in public? I'm kinda surprised you're cool with that, Charlie. I mean, Jake was like a son to you."

Dad studies Jared for a moment as the younger man smirks at me.

"I don't know about that, Jared. No son of mine would ever abuse a woman."

Jared's head snaps towards Charlie, as do both Edward's and mine. I'm slightly shocked at Dad's words, and I lean in to Edward's side for support.

"Billy said –"

"I don't give a fuck what Billy Black said, Jared." Dad's voice is low and dangerous, a tone I've rarely heard him use. "Let me clear this up right now, and you can pass this on to all your buddies as well. I am sick and tired of hearing the lot of you make Jacob the victim in this situation. Yes, his death was tragic. Yes, Isabella left him just before he passed. You know, why Jared? You don't need to know the details, but the fucker was abusing her; emotionally and physically. So, _pal_, you can tell that to your friends the next time they start bad-mouthing my daughter for moving on, for finding a man who treats her with kindness, respect and love."

"Shit, Charlie, we didn't know –"

"It was public knowledge that Jake had been charged, Jared, so don't give me that shit. You all just chose to ignore it and paint my daughter as a lying whore. Now piss off. Go on, get out of here."

Jared takes a few steps away before he pauses and comes back to our table, eyeing Dad warily. He turns his gaze on me, shame and embarrassment evident in his dark eyes.

"Uh, Isabella, I, uh, it probably doesn't mean shit to you now, but I'm really sorry. I know we can be stupid immature jerks, but we had no idea about what you'd been through. Jake and Billy kinda made it seem like you were just having a girly hissy fit when you left, and then pictures of you and him came out," he mumbles, gesturing at Edward, "and we all just accepted what Billy told us. I, uh, I'm really sorry. I'm really ashamed of myself, knowing the disgusting things we said about you, having no idea what actually happened." He sighs, shaking his head and looking at his feet. "Look, I know it's years too late, but I'm going to have a word to the boys, if that's okay? They need to know the truth. Billy's had too much power over the lot of us for too long, and I'm starting to wonder if that's why none of us can keep a girlfriend. Embry's been calling us 'misogynistic assholes' for years now. And yeah, maybe that's what we've all become."

"You're right, Jared, it is years too late, but nonetheless, I forgive you. Honestly, it's never really mattered to me what you guys thought. It hurt like crazy that the man I considered a second father was so quick to write me off as a whore, but –"

"But it's not surprising, given that Sarah left him." Jared finishes.

I roll my eyes, shaking my head.

"Seriously? For fuck's sake Jared, Sarah Black left because Billy used to beat her, and her brother all but dragged her away when he figured out what was going on. Billy's been manipulating the lot of you since you were teenagers. You all have these fucking stupid expectations where you think women ought spread their legs at your whim, cook your dinner, clean your houses, and act as your personal maids. So yeah, I'd reckon misogynistic assholes is pretty fucking accurate."

Jared blinks in surprise, whether at the foul language I'm spewing at him or the facts I've just revealed to him, I'm not sure. I feel slightly guilty for revealing Sarah's trauma in this way, but these morons have been hero-worshipping Billy Black for far too long.

Edward's arm squeezes me in gentle support, and I lean into his warmth, gratefully. I know it's taking him a lot of restraint not to give Jared a piece of his own mind, but I'm quite pleased that he's letting me fight this battle on my own. It's been a long fucking time coming.

"I, uh, holy shit … I had no fucking idea." Jared shakes his head, his eyes on the ground. "Again, Isabella, I'm so fucking sorry." Not waiting for a response, he turns on his heel and leaves the diner, his head bowed, hands stuffed in his pockets.

As soon as Jared is out of earshot, Dad huffs out a breath, looking across the table at me, chagrin clouding his face.

"Bells, I'm sorry –"

"It's fine, Dad," I whisper. "Really, it's okay. Thank you for defending me like that."

"No, I'm sorry for dragging that out, honey. I shouldn't have."

"Dad, really, it's alright." I reach across the table and grab his hand, squeezing it gently. "I'm not ashamed of my past. My only fault in it was not walking away sooner. I've come to terms with it, I've moved on. So, please, don't worry."

"You're very strong, Bella," Sue interjects softly. "I've had a lot to do with women in similar situations, and sadly, many of them never reach the point you have, where you're able to look forward and move on in your life.

At her words, Edward presses a kiss to my cheek, whispering so only I can hear.

"I'm so proud of you, love."

I turn my head to face him, seeing the sincerity of his words in his clear green eyes. I press a gentle kiss to his lips, before turning my attention back to Dad and Sue.

"It'll never change things with Billy, though."

"No," Dad sighs, "it most likely won't. He's too bitter by now. He's lost his son, his wife, his best friend, one of his daughters, and he'll probably never get to see his granddaughter. And now, he's lost the respect of that group of young men. And probably his other daughter, also, as Rachel's dating Paul."

"And he'll blame that all on me," I sigh.

"Possibly," Dad shrugs. "He'd be foolish to though. It won't make him feel any better."

Sue nods sagely, "Yes. Until he can accept it's all on his own head, all he has left is bitterness. If he's man enough to admit his wrongs, he might have a chance at salvaging some of those relationships, but if he can't, he'll end up dying a bitter, lonely old man."

"Uh," Edward shifts in his seat uneasily, and my head snaps towards him in concern. "You, ugh, shit … Charlie, you don't think he'd make any attempt to hurt Bella, do you?"

I'm shaking my head as Charlie considers his answer.

"What could he do, Edward? He's a frail old man, these days. And Bells just stripped him of any power he had left, by making sure those jackasses know the truth. He's got no power to hurt her. Even if he were to call up those ridiculous tabloids, it'd be easy enough to refute any of his nonsense."

Edward doesn't look convinced, so I gently squeeze his hand, trying to let him know that I'm not worried. He looks down at me with pride in his eyes, and I give him a cheeky wink before turning my attention back to the menu in front of me.

"Alright, then. Enough with the drama. I'm starving."

* * *

><p>On Christmas morning, I awaken cradled in Edward's arms, a gentle smile as on my lips as I watch the snowflakes fluttering past the window. It's one of those magical moments that I almost wish would never end; the serenity seems to permeate it's way into the very marrow of my bones. I know when Edward wakes, because I feel his callused fingertips tracing down my arm, as soft as the fall of snowflakes beyond the glass. Rolling carefully to face him, I smile sleepily as he brushes my tousled hair out of my eyes.<p>

"Merry Christmas, love."

"Merry Christmas, Edward."

I can feel the vibrations of Edward's speech rolling through his chest, but I cannot tell what he is saying. Rather, my gaze is drawn to his full lips; hypnotized by the way they form the words he is speaking. Captivated, I squirm until my face is level with his, before I gently capture his bottom lip between my own. Static seems to crackle around us, charging the air, and the intensity and passion in my kiss escalates rapidly. Edward's deep groan fans the sparks into wildfire, and I can't get close enough to him.

Somehow, I end up on my back, the feeling of Edward's weight pressing me into the mattress causing me to whimper with need. I writhe and thrash as his lips begin their exploration of my naked body. Neck, breasts, stomach, thighs; his mouth is everywhere at once, and yet not where I so desperately need it. Grasping his hair wildly, I push him down my body forcefully, begging him to soothe the scorching flames that burn from within.

His bronze hair gently tickles my belly, as the scruff of his chin rasps against my thighs, and instead of soothing, his torturous mouth only stokes the fires as it caresses and probes and nibbles and sucks and licks until I feel as though I will surely combust from this painful pleasure. Gasping and whimpering, my limbs flailing wildly, I beg Edward to end this delicious torture.

"Please, please," I sob quietly, unsure of what I am asking.

"Shh, love, surrender. Let go."

"Can't. Can't. Please."

Wound as tight as I am, as soon as Edward's clever fingers join with his mouth I am lost, as wave after wave of sensation and heat and bliss pound over me.

Exhausted, I am wholly unprepared when Edward flips me back over on to my front and pulls my hips up to meet his. My arms flail as I try to plant them on the mattress to support myself. Abruptly, Edward fills me, his body more deeply united with mine than it has ever been before. Moans of pleasure escape from two mouths as the sound of skin slamming against skin fills the room, a violent contrast to the quietude of the winter morning breaking beyond the glass.

"Oh fuck," the low oath escapes Edward's lips from where they are pressed to my shoulder blade, and then we are both falling, plummeting through the depths of ecstasy until we meet an unexpectedly soft landing, as we slump, sated and breathless, Edward cradling my trembling body against his, holding me fast in his strong arms.

His hard body fitted behind my soft curves, Edward's hands resume their gentle caressing of my tangled hair as I watch the snowflakes outside, still fluttering and whirling in the chilly winter wind.

"I love you," I whisper, my voice barely louder than the falling snowflakes.

"And I, you" is the response, exhaled in a damp breath against my neck.

* * *

><p><strong>Apparently, I've been living under a rock, because I only JUST read Derdriu oFaolain's <strong>_**And With Thee Fade Away**_**. I have no words. Go. Read.**

**You also MUST read stella luna sky's **_**Bare**_** and **_**Grand Jeté**_**. You will weep, but your heart will rejoice.**


	30. June  September 2013

**Chapter 25: June – September 2013**

**A/N: Buckle up, my lovelies, there's a big span of time covered quite quickly here. Yes, we left them at Christmas 2012 last chapter, I've skipped over the time, but you'll still get a good feel for what we 'missed'.**

**Song … does anyone actually look these up?**

_**For You**_**, Angus and Julia Stone**

* * *

><p>"Are you ready to go, love?"<p>

"Uh, yeah, I suppose so," I murmur. Wrapping my arms around Edward's waist, I grin up at him, my heart fluttering as his green eyes regard me warmly.

It's June, and with the summer comes the end of my studies, and the beginning of Edward's long overdue tour of the States. It's been a busy six months, and as we stand on the street in front of our apartment building, likely for the last time, I can't help but smile in contentment. I've graduated easily, and my novel is close to halfway done. Even more satisfactory, is the fact that as of last week, I am no longer dependant on anti-depressant medication. The weaning process took me around six months, and not once have I relapsed.

Sadly, the same can't be said for my beautiful boy; in March, attempting to come off his own medication, he suffered an episode that lasted two weeks, and very nearly ended with him being hospitalized. He took it hard, but has resigned himself to the fact that it's likely he will need to continue taking anti-depressants for the rest of his life. At first, he struggled terribly with the idea, feeling as though his mind and emotions had failed him, but he's come round to the idea that his brain just needs a little help producing the chemicals necessary to keep him on an even keel.

He's bounced back, resilient as ever, and after spending time in the studio last month, has recorded another album that's currently being mixed. It should be released in a month or two, and having spent a lot of time in the studio, watching him record, I'm certain it will be nothing short of stunning. Edward created a lot of music from a very dark place, haunting lyrics and poignant melodies flowing out of his wounded heart. Once he felt more settled emotionally, he was able to approach his pieces more objectively, and that lead to the fact that he somehow convinced one of the local symphony orchestras to record with him. The result is exquisite; Edward's rough-hewn vocals upheld by the symphonic ebb and swell, has made for a truly extraordinary sound. I'm so proud of him; and I can't wait for other people to be exposed to the beauty my sweet love is able to create.

We still haven't got around to moving into a bigger place; with the all insanity we've been dealing with, it was easier to just keep our apartments – we've essentially lived in mine, and set up Edward's as a storage and study space. As we'll now be on the road for over four months, we've decided to worry about finding a place of our own once Edward's tour is done.

"I'm proper sad to be leaving this place," Edward sighs, looking up at the drab grey building that has been my home for the last two years.

"Really?"

"Well, yeah. Lots of memories, you know?"

"Some I'd rather forget," I murmur, dragging my eyes from Edward's sad smile to the uninspiring building façade. "All the good ones are in here, anyway," I mutter, my hand briefly touching the spot over my heart.

Edward's lips find my forehead as I sigh, leaning into his embrace. Eventually, I'm wrenched from a thoughtful reverie by a sharp pinch on the ass. Jumping in shock, I can't help the squeak that escapes me.

"Come on, we've a plane to catch, sweet girl."

Grinning at Edward's abruptly playful demeanor, I nod my head, climbing into the shuttle that's waiting for us, overflowing with bags and guitars. Why Edward needs to bring four guitars is beyond me, but I choose to say nothing, instead sliding into a free seat and pulling Edward down beside me.

This tour will proceed in virtually the reverse order of Edward's last comprehensive tour of the States, nearly three years ago now. We're flying in to New York City, from where we'll be travelling west by road, with the final stop in Portland, at the very venue in which I first saw him play. Despite the fact that I'm incredibly excited to finally see so much of the country of my birth along the way; it's that show I'm most looking forward to.

When we land in New York, we have two days to explore before we're due to meet up with Marcus and Leah and officially begin Edward's tour. Whilst we do a bit of sightseeing, we also spend a lot of time in our hotel room, our naked bodies entwined, as we succumb time and again to this frantic urge to be as close as possible as often as possible.

I'm really excited to see Leah; though Edward keeps in touch, I've not seen her since we were all in Vancouver, so many years ago now. Leah will always have a particularly special place in my heart; though we may never be as close as I am to Rose, I'll never be able thank her sufficiently for needling me to introduce myself to Edward. Her pushiness irrevocably altered the trajectory of my life.

* * *

><p>Leah passes me a Hendricks and tonic with a smile as we lean against the bar while Edward runs through a sound check for his first gig in New York.<p>

"Cheers," I grin, clinking my glass against her beer bottle.

"Cheers, lovey." Leah studies me for a moment, before finally speaking. "He's a new man, Isabella."

"Bella," I correct, shrugging off her implied compliment.

"Surely you can see it too, lovey. He's so fucking … content. Happy. Thriving."

"He is now," I acknowledge. "It's been a rough six months for him, but he's incredibly resilient."

Leah smiles, her dark eyes serious.

"I met Edward just before he hit rock bottom," she murmurs, and I can barely hear her over Edward's discussion with the sound technicians. "He was pretty fucking messed up. Not a lot of people noticed; they figured he was just a little wild, yeah? There's a lot of people who do all the same things he was doing, the booze, the drugs, the women. It's almost expected of the lads sometimes. But Edward just had this … emptiness … you could see it in his eyes. He was looking for something, desperately, but nothing filled the void. He got himself sorted out, the meds helped, but he, I dunno. He's just different, yeah? Like he's never really fit the way the world expected him to. He and Emmett have always been tight, but other than that …" she shakes her head, sighing before she continues.

"When he approached me about doing publicity shit for him, Emmett pretty much begged me to do it, just so one of us was around at all times, like he needed a fucking babysitter. I didn't mind so much, I had no real sense of direction so it worked well for a while. I got to travel, sleep in, hang out in bars all night … it was fun. It got old though."

I frown, wondering where on earth Leah is going with this.

"I had every intention of telling Edward I'd had enough; the gigs in LA just before we met you were utter insanity, and they completely screwed with Edward. And then we rocked up to Portland. I remember seeing you come into the bar. And there was something empty about you too; it reminded me so much of Edward. I mean, I didn't even know you, but there was just … something missing, I could see it in your eyes. So I wanted to talk to you; I thought it would help me understand Edward. But you just kept surprising me; nothing you said made any sense to me. You lit up when you talked about Edward's music and I could see how deeply it touched you, but then said you didn't want to meet him; it was so strange to me." Leah takes another sip of her beer before she continues.

"The reasons I gave you at the time to encourage you to introduce yourself were all true. But they weren't the real reason: I just had this fucking weird feeling that it just _needed_ to happen. You were both so lost; if nothing else, I thought you'd be able to understand each other. It wasn't like, matchmaking or that shit, I mean, I knew you were married and stuff, but … And I saw it, yeah? The moment he saw you that something in him changed. And after spending time with you … he was so … hopeful."

I smile softly, remembering the moments Leah is describing.

"Anyway. He's just so different now, Bella; you are as well. I dunno, it's like you both just belong together, like you weren't whole until you were together. I know it's not as simple as that, and I'm not trying to suggest that you're like, I dunno, dependant on your relationship or some shit. Fuck, it's just, it's like one plus one equals seven, yeah? Does that make sense? Whatever … I'm really fucking happy for you guys. I know it's been a pretty bloody hard road you've both had to walk, but …"

"It's been worth every step," I finish. "I'll never be able to tell you how thankful I am that you wouldn't let me say no, Leah."

Leah shrugs, "You don't need to tell me, lovey. I can see it every time you two look at each other."

* * *

><p>Edward plays three consecutive shows in New York City before we officially hit the road, making stops in Philadelphia, Newark, Baltimore, Charlotte and Charleston.<p>

Edward finds being back in Charleston, South Carolina particularly difficult. Watching him withdraw into himself as we approach the city, I wonder if he's heading toward another depressive episode. He shakes his head at my whispered question, reminding me that he was in a hotel room in Charleston when he had the dream that lead to my confession of my own depression. Sighing quietly, I take his hand, gently reminding him that I am fine, that though he will always carry those memories of pain and sadness, I am no longer trapped in that place of despair.

I leave him to do his sound check, waiting for him in the green room with Leah and Marcus. When he returns an hour later, his hands are in his hair and he begins to pace immediately. Shooting Marcus and Leah apologetic glances, I ask them to give us a few minutes alone. Edward locks the door behind them as they leave, immediately pulling me into his arms and crashing his mouth to mine. There is desperation and panic in his kiss, as he backs me up against the door, devouring and consuming me.

Hands fumble frantically as we tear at each other's jeans, and I am dizzy with need and desire by the time Edward lifts me into his arms and finds his way inside me. He pushes me up against the wall as he takes me; fast, furious, consuming need flowing between us as he seeks to exorcise the demons that haunt him in this place. Yet, even as we fuck, hungrily, desperately, Edward's hand cradles the back of my head, unwilling to risk hurting me as he plummets towards release. His mouth swallows my frantic cries, as I cling to him, my body trembling with pent up tension. Together, we are plunged into our release, shaking and crying as we cling to each other. When we resurface, there is a calmness and tranquility that descends as we clean each other up, soothing and comforting with gentle kisses and caresses.

When Edward finally makes it on stage that evening; his playing is inspired, truly magical. His fingers flash across his guitar strings with such grace and skill, supporting and complementing his haunting voice as he sings the songs that have poured forth from his very soul.

* * *

><p>We continue to zigzag our way across the continent, Edward receiving glowing write-ups in all the indie music magazines and blogs. His name is rarely mentioned in conjunction with Emmett's any more; his music is being taken on its own merit. Just before we arrive in Atlanta, Edward's newest album, <em>Broken Strings<em>, is released. It rockets up the indie music charts; Edward simply shaking his head in amazement as praise continues to flow in.

We make stops in Knoxville, Cincinnati, Chicago, Milwaukee, Minneapolis, Omaha, Wichita, Dallas, and Houston, before we take a week off to rest and re-gather ourselves. Tired of the constant time on the road, I think we leave our hotel room twice in the entire week. Instead we relax, watching movies and reading, making love and simply enjoying the brief respite.

The next stops are Santa Fe, Denver, Phoenix, Las Vegas, San Diego, Los Angeles, and San Francisco; shows that are made all the more amazing by the fact Edward has convinced the strings section of the orchestra to play with him. It's a series of truly inspiring performances, and I'm honestly amazed at the sheer depth of talent my boy continues to reveal.

Finally, we set our faces toward home, to the final show of this tour. Before we head to Portland, however, Edward surprises me by stealing us away to a bed and breakfast in the Napa Valley for two days, where we drink far too much wine and making giggly, drunk love in all kinds of places.

I am almost surprised at myself; when I reflect on how much I really, really enjoy sex with Edward. Considering the fact I once considered it a wretched chore, something that essentially terrified me, it's really quite empowering to acknowledge that I really, desperately, _crave_ sex with Edward, and in fact, I'm not at all shy to tell him exactly what I want, when I want it.

Which is why, as we picnic between the rows of vines in an out-of-the-way vineyard, when I decide I really want Edward, I tell him so.

"Edward," I murmur.

"Yes, my love?"

"I want you. Now."

Edward looks up in surprise, his green eyes round with shock.

"Well, let's go then," he's on his feet, stuffing things back into the picnic basket rapidly.

"No." Edward stills at my negative, looking at me, bewildered. "Now, Edward. Here. Now."

"Love, you know I'd deny you nothing, but in case you haven't noticed, we're not exactly in the most private of locations."

"Pssht," I wave away his concerns flippantly. "There's no one around for miles. It's September, and this is a Chardonnay plot. Can you see any grapes? They've already been harvested to make sparkling wine. No one is going to disturb us."

Edward looks down at me, lying on the picnic blanket at his feet. His eyes show me that he is torn, concerned about preserving my modesty, whilst the bulge in his jeans tells me that at least part of him is definitely on board with my suggestion.

It's perhaps a little unfair, and more than a little manipulative, but my hands move carefully to my blouse, popping the buttons as my fingers work their way down my torso. Edward watches closely, and I can't help the smirk that twists my lips as I watch his throat bob as he swallows. Casting my blouse aside, my fingers move to my jeans, before they are suddenly swatted away and I find myself pinned beneath Edward's hard body.

"You win, love."

"So it would seem," I grin, rocking my hips against him.

"You're very cheeky, love," he chastises gently. "But, oh fuck, how could I ever say no to you, dearest?"

And so Edward makes love to me, first with his fingertips, then his mouth, and then his body, the smell of damp earth and sunshine and Edward and sex permeating my senses until I am begging him to end this exquisite torture. Finally, he surrenders to his own pleasure, calling out my name in a violent declaration of adoration and delight.

As he collapses above me, my hands slide across the damp skin of his back, feeling the heaving of his lungs as he gasps desperately for air. I can't help the quiet giggle that escapes me, as Edward huffs and puffs, trying to regain his breath.

"You think you're funny do you, love?" he rumbles, his words hot and humid against my neck.

"Oh, I know I'm funny, honey," I smirk, biting gently on his ear. I feel, rather than hear his growl, and further giggles escape me.

Edward props himself up with an elbow, his eyes still dark as he looks down at me. A gentle finger traces my jaw line before it makes its way down, teasing my still sensitive nipples. As I squirm away from his touch, Edward's expression becomes positively devilish.

"Oh, Bella, sweetheart, you ought never start something you can't finish," he smirks, his hips rocking gently against mine, the friction jarring my hypersensitive nerves.

I cry out, whether in protest or pleasure I'm not sure, as his fingers continue to dance across my overheated flesh, the gentle movement of Edward's pelvis sending burning sparks shooting through my veins. My words become nonsensical as Edward's continues to tease and rock, keeping me on the precipice of pleasure until I am shaking violently; unable to take the sharp ecstasy Edward is drawing from my body.

"Please, Edward, please."

"Don't beg, love. Please, just let go, my love."

"I can't," I sob, my head shaking violently, "I can't, Edward, I can't."

"Shh, love. Oh, Bella, I'm sorry, love." Edward's voice is soft, pained, as his hips begin to move harder, as his fingers twist and tease my swollen flesh. I clung to him frantically as he rolls us gently, pushing my torso upright with care, guiding my hips as I rock over him, clawing at him in need. The change in angle is all I need for my body to finally surrender to its release and I collapse into Edward's strong arms, my body exhausted, tears of relief slipping down my cheeks.

We lie, wrapped in each other's arms until the sun begins to dip below the horizon. Edward helps me dress, gently, carefully, but I can see the distance in his eyes growing; he is pulling away emotionally.

"Edward?" I whisper, hurt seeping into my tone as he merely grunts in response. "Please don't pull away from me, Edward. Not now."

The pain in my voice garners his attention and his head snaps to regard me, his eyes soft but haunted.

"Remember how I promised you I'd tell you if things got beyond what I could handle?"

"Yes," he whispers, "I'm so sorry, love. I got carried away. Fuck, Bella, I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

"Edward –" I say firmly, halting his apology. "Love, it's okay. It was intense, yes, but you didn't hurt me, or scare me, alright? I'm fine. Please, please, don't pull away from me."

"I –"

"Don't apologize, Edward please. _I'm_ not sorry and I don't regret it all. That was utterly intense, but I trust you, my love. I trust you to catch me. And you did, yeah?"

"I, just, I never want to make sex unpleasant or uncomfortable for you Bella; you deserve to worshipped, sweetheart."

"It wasn't unpleasant or uncomfortable, Edward. If I ever did feel that way, I'd tell you to stop, okay? I need you to trust me on that, my love. I'm well aware of what I can cope with, yes?"

Edward nods, his eyes still downcast as he continues to pack away the remains of our picnic. Anger begins to simmer in me as Edward continues to wallow in his self-disgust. I grab the picnic basket out of his hands and throw it back to the ground, planting myself firmly in front of him.

"Look at me, Edward, now." His eyes meet mine, widening slightly at the anger he sees on my face. "Whatever is going on in that head of yours, STOP IT! NOW. If I say I'm okay, you will fucking well respect the fact that I know myself well enough to know that I AM OKAY. I don't say things I don't mean. I don't say 'I'm fine,' when I'm not, and you know this." I poke my finger into his chest to emphasize my point, trying not to get distracted by the somewhat humourous look of surprise on Edward's face.

"So pull your head out of that incredibly cute ass of yours, and let's deal with this. What, exactly, are you worried about? I'm not hurt. I'm not concerned. And I'm fucking not comparing you to _him_, and if you're even thinking about _him_ right now, I swear, Edward Cullen, I will kick your ass so damned hard!"

"You were crying," he whispers, his eyes pleading with me.

"So what, Edward? We've both cried whilst having sex before, and you know it. It happens; we're both very emotional people, things get intense, and sometimes one or both of us cries. It's just another way our bodies deal with intense emotions."

Edward sighs deeply, taking my hand in his and bringing it to his lips.

"You're really okay, love? I didn't fuck up?"

"You didn't fuck up, Edward. I loved your playfulness, and you know what, it _was_ crazy intense, but fuck, baby … " I shake my head, at a loss for words. "Honestly, I really like it when you don't treat me like I'm made of glass, Edward. I like that things can get a little rough or intense, but you still make me feel safe and loved. However, you definitely fucked up by over-reacting like this."

Edward sighs, his hands going to his hair.

"I love you, you know? So much, Bella, that sometimes I just don't have room in my body for the depth of feeling I have for you. I'm sorry that I over-reacted, I'm sorry that sometimes I want to wrap you in cotton wool to make sure no one can hurt you, especially me. I just, I never want to see you cry, sweet girl."

"Oh, Edward." I pull him into my arms; my silly, sweet, soft-hearted boy. "I love you too, even when you're over-reacting and trying to pack me in cotton wool."

Tugging his face down to mine, I tenderly trace the planes of his cheekbones before kissing him softly.

"I'm sorry for shouting, Edward. I love you."

"I love you too, Bella."

Hand in hand, we make our way back to the van in the darkling afternoon.

* * *

><p>In the early morning light of the following day, we are on the road to Portland, finally, the last stop before we can find our way home. I can sense Edward's nervousness increasing as we approach the city; his hands frequently move to his hair, tugging at it absently, and his knee bounces out an erratic tempo. I'm surprised; after four months of playing three to four gigs a week, this is the first time I've seen him get particularly wound up. Nerves don't usually hit him until he actually walks on to the stage, and he's got a variety of techniques for dealing with them.<p>

"You'll be perfect, Edward," I whisper quietly.

His head snaps towards me, surprise written across his brow.

"I can see you're nervous, love. It's unnecessary; you'll completely wow everyone just like you have at every other stop along the way, okay?"

Edward nods absently, his bottom lip between his teeth, but makes no effort to explain himself. I sit quietly for a while, before I decide to go with another tactic: distraction.

"Edward?"

"Mmm."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, love," he murmurs, his gaze still firmly fixed on the road ahead.

"Tell me a fantasy you have?"

"Hmm – Wait, WHAT?" I can't help but giggle at the stunned expression on Edward's face.

"Edward," I whisper, my voice dropping, "I want you to tell me something you fantasize about. I mean, it doesn't have to be sexual, but it can be if you'd like … I'll go first, if that helps?"

"Uh, okay," Edward chokes out.

"Right. Uh, well," I smile, surprised at how comfortable I feel about sharing these things with Edward; I trust him completely, knowing he would never condemn me for my desires. "I'd really like to make love in the rain."

Edward looks at me briefly, before his eyes are back on the road. I can see the corner of his mouth quirk, and it makes me giggle.

"Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why, love? Explain to me what it is about the idea of making love in the rain that appeals to you?"

"Oh," I pause, trying to gather my thoughts. "I think it's about the sensation. You know? I love the way rain feels falling on my skin; the coolness, the relentless tapping, the way the drops kind of … ricochet and spatter across my skin. So, I guess the idea of that, on skin that's overheated and already pulsing with sensation, it seems really erotic to me."

Edward seems to consider the idea for a while, stealing glances at me as he does so. I assume he's trying to picture it, and my theory is confirmed when he finally speaks.

"So, you'd want to be on top, yeah? But … maybe, sitting upright?"

I swallow noisily as the image sears my imagination.

"Uh-huh … oh, fuck." I squirm in the seat, aroused beyond belief, and Edward chuckles deep in his throat as he notices the movement.

"It's your turn, Edward."

Edward's fingers tap the steering wheel thoughtfully, though his knee is no longer vibrating with nervous energy: mission accomplished. He is silent for so long I begin to wonder if he actually intends on answering. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and intense.

"I fantasize about a lot of things, sweetheart. Yes, from time to time I indulge in erotic daydreams about different ways I can make my name fall from your lips. And I fantasize about the different ways I can make you say it; what it would take to make you groan it, or scream it, or cry it, or moan it, or exhale it on the gentlest of breaths," he chuckles again at the whimper than escapes me, before he continues, his expression becoming serious. "More than, sweet girl, I fantasize about forever. I daydream about marrying you, love. I fantasize about making love to you as your husband. I fantasize about introducing you as Bella Cullen. I imagine making love to you when your belly is so swollen and round that you can't remember what your feet look like. I picture you holding an infant to your breast. I dream about embarrassing our children by not being able to keep my hands off you when their friends come to visit. I fantasize about desiring you in middle age, when your tummy is stretched and your breasts aren't as quite deliciously perky as they are now and a few grey hair start to appear around your temples. I imagine warning off our daughter's boyfriends, and minding our grandchildren so their parents can rest. And I fantasize about holding your hand when our hair is white with age, and our skin is lined with wrinkles, and we're too old and creaky to make love any more."

By the time Edward finishes speaking, hot tears are streaming down my face. My silly, beautiful, sweet, tenderhearted boy. Only he could take my cheeky game, meant to distract him from his nerves, and turn it into an opportunity to cause me to fall in love with him all over again.

He smiles gently at my tears, taking my hand in his and pressing it to his lips, softly.

"I love you," is all I manage to choke out, between gasping breaths.

"I will love you forever, Bella."

* * *

><p>When we arrive at the bar in Portland, we eat quickly before Edward rushes off to do a sound check. Once he's satisfied, he joins Leah, Marcus and I at the bar, laughing and relaxing over a few beers. He seems to have gotten over his nerves, for which I am glad. When the bar starts to pack out, Edward chats warmly with a few fans, before he excuses himself to get ready, and drags me into the green room. When he locks the door behind us, I quirk my eyebrow at him, anticipating a repeat of Charleston, and Atlanta, and Houston, and Chicago, and Phoenix, and half a dozen other tour stops along the way. Edward smiles and shakes his head, his hands going straight into his hair.<p>

"Will you watch from the audience tonight, love?" Edward's voice is quiet, and I study him with concern.

"If you want me to, of course I will," I assure him, smiling at the relief I see in his eyes. "Assuming there are any free seats; you've got a good sized crowd gathering out there, hun."

"I, uh, I got Leah to make sure she reserved a table for you, sweet girl. The, uh, the table –"

"That I sat in the first time I saw you play?" I guess.

Edward nods, looking at me warily.

"That's perfect," I whisper, grateful for his thoughtfulness. This trip has been such a healing and growing experience for both of us, and it's such a perfect symbol, coming back to where we began. Edward pulls me into a gentle embrace, and I relax into the warmth and love and security his arms offer me.

"Ten minutes, lad." Marcus' voice startles us, and I give Edward a gentle squeeze and a kiss on the cheek before ducking out of the room in search of Leah.

When I find her, sitting at a small table off to the right of the stage, she grins widely, her white teeth sparkling against her coffee-coloured skin.

"Sorry, uh, is it okay if I sit here for a bit?" I grin at her.

"Sit, sit, lovey," she grins, winking at me.

Talk ceases suddenly as my beautiful boy clambers up on to stage, illuminated by a single spotlight. I watch, a proud but somewhat goofy smile on my face, as pulls his guitar's strap over his head, taps a few pedals, and fiddles with his capo. When he finally looks up, his eyes search me out immediately, and a crooked grin appears on his face as he finds me, in the very same place our eyes first connected.

As is typical, Edward launches straight into a few of his newest songs; deliberately beginning with a piece that commences with some complex finger-picking that demands all of his attention. He plays through several more songs before he grabs a beer, takes a sip and grins sheepishly at his enraptured audience.

"Uh hi. It's really great to be back in Portland. This venue is pretty fucking special to me, so I'm really excited to be back here."

As he continues to play and banter with the audience, my heart swells yet again with pride for his unbelievable talent. These people are not here hoping to catch glimpses of Em and Rose; these days, Edward has amassed an incredibly loyal following of music lovers who recognize the authenticity of his song writing, and the honesty with which he imbues each performance. Tonight, unaccompanied as he is, his vocals are the centerpiece: strong, raw and powerful, emotional and captivating.

As he begins to wind down his set, a familiar tune begins to sound from the stage and my head snaps up in shock: Edward is playing the lullaby he wrote for me. I don't know whether to be upset or delighted. It's a piece that displays his remarkable talent, but it's just so damn personal, and I'm a little shocked he's actually playing it in such a public forum.

Whilst his fingers continue to dance across the strings, Edward leans into the microphone and begins to speak; his eyes seeking out mine.

"I mentioned before that this venue has a really special place in my heart. I played here a little over three years ago, and I saw this girl. She took my breath away. She was crying whilst I played, and it was such an emotional experience, seeing her so affected by my music that I rushed off stage and wrote her a song. And when I finally came out, song complete, she was gone. I was devastated." Edward smiles wryly before continuing. "Fortunately for me, she came to see me play in Seattle a few days later, and she introduced herself to me. I fell in love with her that night."

My heart is in my throat as I listen to Edward speak. I ought to be confused and concerned, but I'm too caught up in his words, remembering every tear, every hurt, every joy and every smile we've shared over the years since that first night.

"When my tour manager booked this gig; I knew then that there was no better time or place to do this." Edward has drawn my lullaby to a close, and I watch, stunned, as he places his guitar on its stand and jumps off the front of the stage. The murmuring of the crowd increases, but I only have eyes for the British boy dodging tables as he moves towards me.

When he stops at my table, he smiles softly, taking my hands in his, before kneeling down in front of me. My heart is thundering in my breast, as my mouth drops open in shock. His voice, when he speaks, is soft and laden with emotion.

"Bella, love. I love you. I have loved you since the first time I saw you, sitting in this exact spot, tears streaming down your face. For so long, it crushed me, thinking you could never be mine, believing that I would have to love you from afar. Believing I'd met my soul mate … I would have been content with your friendship, sweet girl. I would have spent the rest of my existence alone; accepting whatever you could spare me. But having your love," he shakes his head, and I see tears beginning to pool in his green eyes, "it's beyond belief, love. I love you, more than I ever thought possible. Bella, my life, my light, my love; will you marry me?"

Blinded by the tears that are streaking down my face, I slide off my chair to kneel, bringing my face level with Edward's. I gently extricate my hands from his and cup his face, looking deep into his green eyes. Edward too, is now openly crying and I carefully brush the tears from his cheeks before I speak.

"Yes," I whisper, my voice shaking with emotion. "Yes, of course I will, Edward. I love you."

Edward's smile is blinding in it's joy; and I am only vaguely aware of the cheers and applause that fills the bar as his lips meet mine in a kiss that is all-consuming, overwhelming in it's riotous happiness and delight.

When we pull apart, gasping for breath, I am suddenly very aware of the two hundred strangers watching and cheering for us, and my cheeks flame red as I duck my head. Edward pulls us both to our feet, before he suddenly laughs in surprise and begins to dig in his jeans pocket.

"I almost forgot!" he exclaims, shaking his head as he extracts a small black bag from his pocket. I don't see what he removes from it before he reaches gently for my right hand.

"I'll explain why later, love, but it needs to go on this hand, okay?"

Though I am puzzled, I nod my acceptance, watching in awe as he reverently slides an exquisite platinum ring on to the fourth finger of my right hand; it's breathtaking, a large, oval cut ruby solitaire. Edward studies the ring where it rests for a moment, a smile twitching at his lips, before he presses a gentle to kiss to it.

"Come," he grins, his delight at my acceptance is both thrilling and humbling, and once again, I wonder if I fully understand the depths of Edward's love. Perhaps I never will, just as I will never fully be able to express to him the extent of my love and adoration of him. I'm too overwhelmed to protest as he leaps back up on to the stage before turning to help me climb up. Indicating I should sit on the edge of the stage, he makes quick work of adjusting a microphone stand, grabs his guitar and tunes it quickly, and then sits down beside me. He wrenches his attention back to the audience, grinning at their cheers and catcalls.

"Thanks again for having me here in Portland, guys. This place now houses _two_ of my most treasured memories!" he chuckles, before continuing. "I'm going to sing one more song, and it's not one of mine. You all know it though, and I want you to help me sing it to my … fiancée." Edward's delight in using the word fiancée is obvious, and I can't help but laugh at the goofy smile stretched across his face.

The crowd cheers and yells as Edward begins to play Van Morrison's _Brown Eyed Girl_, just as he did three years ago in an attempt to make me smile. From where I sit on the stage, I laugh in delight as I see Emmett, Rose and Leah, along with Dad and Sue waving from the bar, enormous grins plastered on their faces; I'm so thankful they were here to share this moment with Edward and I. As two hundred voices join with my sweet fiancé's, joy and hope continue to swell and blossom in my chest, until I feel it's entirely possibly that I may float away on the feeling.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you, my lovelies. Not long to go now ...<strong>

**Shell xx**


	31. September 2013: Edward

**Edward: September 2013**

**A/N: I'd written 2000 words of this chapter from Bella's point of view when Edward starting throwing things at me, declaring that he wanted this chapter. Scruffy Brit boy won. It also means that there's now at least one more chapter before the epilogue.**

* * *

><p><em>"Yes, of course I will, Edward. I love you."<em>

_ She said "yes". _

I smile widely, playing with my beautiful girl's fingers as she continues to sleep beside me; the low light of the early morning is tinged with golds and pinks, and it wouldn't be difficult to believe that an angel were asleep in my bed. Bella's face is turned toward me; her dark hair swirling across the pillow, her full pink lips parted slightly, her long lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she dreams. The sheet covers her from the waist down, though the silky skin of her naked torso is almost luminescent in the dawn. Her left hand is tucked under my shoulder; her right is captured between my own. As my thumb sweeps across the ruby I put on her finger last night, my heart flutters in my chest, joy so encompassing that I think it might just suffocate me.

Though we'd spoken of marriage a number of times, and Bella had agreed that it was something she wanted, I spent the afternoon and evening on tenterhooks, my nervousness finding it's expression in bouncing knees and fidgety fingers. Of course, my sweet girl knows me all too well, and her attempts at distracting me were appreciated, as well as some food for thought. Fuck, the image of her, naked in the rain as we make love … my brain virtually imploded when she shared that fantasy with me.

I had second-guessed myself a number of times since deciding I wanted to propose to her in the bar in Portland. Though it seemed so fitting, starting again from the very moment our eyes first met, I worried such a public forum would come across as coercive. It would destroy me if she felt any pressure to say yes, for any reason other than a genuine desire to be my wife.

Wife.

Bella is going to be my wife.

I'm not sure there is a more beautiful sentence, in any of the world's languages. The grin that stretches my face as I lie in our dawn-lit room probably looks bloody ridiculous, but I honestly can't find it in me to care.

All my concerns faded to nothing when I saw her, again, sitting to the left of the tiny stage. It was all I could do to focus on getting through my set; so desperate was I to ask the question that has nearly spilled from my lips dozens of times in the last year. As it was, her joyful, if tear-filled, acceptance had me so bloody worked up, stupid git that I am, I nearly forgot to give her the blasted ring.

The movement under my shoulder as Bella pulls her hand away is my first indication that she's waking. I smile at her confusion as she studies her hand.

"Other hand, love," I remind her, my voice rasping with sleep and overuse. I chuckle as she quickly pulls her right hand from my grasp, rolling on to her back as she admires the symbol of our engagement. Her smile is gentle as she watches the red stone sparkle in the morning light.

"Why exactly, is it on this hand?" she asks, rolling back to face me. "I'm not fussed, really, I'd wear it on my toe if you asked me to, but it is a little unorthodox."

I sigh lightly, studying my beautiful fiancée: Bella's mahogany hair is tousled and wild, her deep brown eyes still heavy-lidded with sleep. The pillows have left crease marks on her fair cheeks; she looks thoroughly rumpled, and utterly adorable. I press a kiss to her forehead before pulling back, trying to word my explanation carefully.

"Ah, I had a few reasons, I guess. Firstly, because I pulled some bands off your other finger a while ago, and I don't want my ring to remind you of them," I see Bella frown and start to shake her head at my allusion to _him_. "Don't fuss, Bella, please, let me finish."

Bella nods her acquiescence and I can't help but bring my lips to hers, just once, before I continue.

"I know rings are symbolic because they're circles, yeah? They never end. But, I dunno, those other ones you wore, they were more like shackles, keeping you trapped, enslaved. But I did want _something_ to represent our marriage, yeah? That's important to me. So, I have an idea for these fingers," I tell her, linking the fourth finger on her left hand with it's counterpart on my own, "which I will explain later, but I wanted to give you an engagement ring, and I saw this and thought it was just perfect for you; unique, you know … and so I thought, well, what's it really matter if you wear it on your right hand?"

"Okay," she smiles, accepting my explanation easily. "Uh, when are you going to tell me what your super secret idea is?"

When indeed? I rub my hand through my hair, contemplating the answer. I'm honestly a bit out of my depth with this; who the hell knows what needs to happen to pull off a wedding?

"Um, well, it depends. Do you want to, I dunno, like set a date and all that stuff first and do it closer to the wedding, or do you want to just go do it today?"

"Today?" she asks, blinking in surprise.

"Well, yeah, I mean, honestly, love, it's not like I'm going to change my mind about marrying you. I don't know what you want to do in regards to a wedding, but I'd take you to Vegas this second if that's what you'd prefer." It's true; my only stipulation for the wedding is that it legitimately, legally and absolutely binds me to Bella. And, well, I'd prefer it to be soon.

"How about you tell me your idea, and then I'll decide when I want to do it?" Bella offers. It seems like a sensible suggestion, and I smile softly at my girl before I clamber out of bed, grinning at her protests. She sits up to watch me, and the sight of her, naked, sleep rumpled, unspeakably gorgeous, very nearly distracts me from my task.

I dig through my backpack, finally coming across a dark blue sharpie. When I climb back into our bed, I can see understanding beginning to light Bella's eyes as I capture her left hand. I concentrate on her delicate finger, trying to focus on recreating the image that's been dancing in my head for a while now. I study my handiwork momentarily, before releasing her hand. My carefully scrawled 'E' decorates what I'm pretty certain is called the proximal phalanx of the fourth finger of her left hand. It's where a wedding band would traditionally rest, but takes up most of the space between the joints.

Bella smiles, nodding her head, and I can see unshed tears sparkling in her eyes. I hand her the sharpie and offer her my own hand.

"B or I?" she whispers.

"B, obviously, love," I chuckle. She's always been my Bella, from that very first night.

When she releases my hand, my heart swells as I look down at her mark on my finger. I look at it, awed, for a few moments.

"Let's do it today," Bella whispers, her eyes on my mark on her skin.

"Yeah?" I can't keep the giddy delight out of my voice, and Bella giggles softly at my excitement. She lies back down, pulling me with her. We lie, facing each other, our faces only inches apart.

"Yes, Edward," she smiles. "Today. Like you said, it's not as though we're going to change our minds. So let's do it. I want this. I want you. And I want everyone to know that I am yours, and you are mine."

_I am yours, and you are mine._

_I am hers, and she is mine._

A delicate melody begins stir in my mind, as I watch Bella laugh at the goofy smile that I can't wipe of my face. I pull her into my arms and capture her lips in a searing kiss, until her laughter fades and becomes a breathy moan. This new music continues to float through my mind, scoring this most perfect of moments as lips dance and hands caress and limbs begin to tangle.

The shrill screech of Bella's cell phone draws a groan of protest from my throat, and Bella looks as though she may be contemplating throwing the bloody thing through the window. I'd happily encourage her, though I have a suspicion as to whom it might be, and she probably ought answer it.

"Who is it, love?" I sigh.

"Alice."

"Oh, um, you probably want to answer it then," I grin sheepishly, tugging my hair out of my eyes. Bella frowns at me, puzzled. "It's okay, sweetheart, answer it."

She sighs, before lifting the annoying device to her ear.

"_Isabella Marie Swan! Why am I finding out that you and Edward are engaged from a celebrity gossip website, and not from you?"_

For such a small person, that woman certainly has a loud voice; I can make out exactly what she is saying, even from a few feet away. Poor Bella; it's a wonder she's not deaf by now. Wait – celebrity gossip website? Oh. I sigh, resigned. It's one of the consequences of having Em around. I guess some paps must have followed him and Rosie into the bar last night. I had contemplated the possibility this could happen, and it's the reason I asked Charlie and Sue to be there; I didn't want the Chief to read of his daughter's engagement in one of his tabloid magazines. I also asked Alice and Jasper to come along as well, but they couldn't, the reason for which I suspect Alice will divulge to Bella any moment now.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that, Alice. Are you okay?" Bella's voice is compassionate and gentle, and I smile, knowing what's coming next.

"Oh my goodness!" she squeals. "Congratulations, sweetie! That's wonderful news."

As they told me when I called a few days ago to ask them if they'd consider coming to Portland, Alice and Jasper are expecting their first child. Alice tells me that morning sickness is a bitch, and also a complete misnomer. Apparently the pixie has, and I quote, "all-fucking-day sickness", hence their unwillingness to travel the six hours from Forks to Portland.

Bella asks a few questions about the time frame in which the pixie spawn will enter the world, before Alice obviously decides she needs a detailed account of my proposal. I smile as I listen to Bella recount it, playing with her hair as she speaks. It's delightful to listen to Bella's explanations, to hear, in her words, how she was feeling, what she was thinking at the time.

The sound of my own phone chiming causes me to groan as I roll away from Bella to see who has decided to pester me, when I all I want to do is make love to my fiancée.

**From Esme Cullen:  
><strong>**Well? Did she say yes?**

Mum. I sigh; typing back a message I know is going to infuriate her.

**From Edward Cullen:  
><strong>**Yes.**

I chuckle to myself as I throw the phone back down, knowing I have all of five minutes before she either starts blowing up my phone with her calls, or books the next flight out of Heathrow. I turn my attention back to my girl, who sounds as though she's wrapping her conversation with the midget.

"Of course I said yes, silly," she laughs. "Thanks for calling, Alice."

Bella chucks her phone back toward the nightstand, before rolling to face me, her smile radiant. I sweep the long strands of her dark hair out of her eyes, a smirk twitching my lips as Bella's focus falls to my mouth.

"I think we were doing something interesting when we were interrupted," she murmurs, and desire begins to burn within me at her sultry tone. I love how open and confident Bella is in her sexuality and her femininity now. It's been an utter delight to watch her explore that side of herself, and not just because I've reaped the benefits.

"I'm sorry love," I pout, pulling my lips away from hers with a great deal of reluctance. "But my family want to Skype with us, love."

"Right now?' Bella whines, and my body agrees with her. We could be doing something _much_ more interesting to celebrate our engagement right now.

"Soon," I sigh. "They wanted to do it last night but I told them to bugger off."

"Edward, did everyone but me know you planned on proposing last night?"

"Not everyone," I smirk. "But, yeah, as soon as Leah booked this place I knew this is where I wanted to ask you. I, uh, I hesitated for a little while, because I was scared doing it so publicly would be a bad idea, in case you wanted to say no." Bella starts to protest, but I silence her by pressing a finger to her lips, before cradling her face between my palms.

"I was going to say, sweet girl, we've talked about getting married a number of times and agreed that it was something we both wanted. You'd told me several times before now that you would marry me, so I decided it was okay to ask you in a more public setting, and you wouldn't think I was trying to coerce you into saying yes."

"Edward, even if we hadn't talked about it, it still wouldn't have felt coercive. I know you, my love, I know who you are, and being manipulative and coercive is simply not in your nature," I can see Bella's sincerity in her eyes, the trust and love evident there is humbling. "Now, please, Edward, for goodness' sake; less talk and more kissing."

Only too happy to acquiesce, I brush my lips across her jaw, enjoying her sweet smell, before I press my lips to her mouth. Bella sighs as I brush my tongue across her bottom lip, and she immediately allows me to deepen the kiss, her hands snaking around my neck and pulling me closer. My hands move to her waist, and I carefully roll on to my back, bringing Bella with me as we continue to lose ourselves in the sweet dance of lips and tongues and kisses and breath.

Throwing her head back to gasp for air, my lips move down Bella's throat, enjoying the sweet and salty taste of her skin. My hands grip her hips, grinding her against me, the ache in my groin becoming fierce. Bella suddenly shifts, supporting her own weight as she sits up, her naked body swaying above me as she continues to roll her hips gently, providing the friction we both seek.

Her hair cascades around us like a curtain as she leans down to kiss me softly. She pulls back slightly to look at me, and the sheer, unadulterated joy that swells in my heart, shines back at me from her dark eyes.

"I love you," she whispers. I will never tire of hearing those three words fall from her pretty lips.

"As I love you."

"Make love to me, Edward." No sooner have the words left her lips than my phone starts shrieking and wailing, and I groan in frustration. Am I ever going to get to make love to my fiancée? After the gig last night, we had to spend time celebrating with Charlie and Sue, then Em and Rosie, and we didn't make it back to our hotel room until the early hours of the morning, too exhausted to do much more than share a few tender kisses.

"Katie?" Bella smiles.

"Worse," I groan. "Mum. She's pretty desperate to speak to us."

"Let's get this over with then," she smiles, and as frustrated as I am, I can't be upset at my sweet girl's selflessness. "We'll call my Mom whilst we're at it. Then, after that, we're shutting off every piece of technology we own until I've had my way with you."

Well, that sounds promising. Bella leans down to press another soft kiss to my cheek, as I grab her arse and grind against her. Her breathy moan is so incredibly sexy, and it's with a great deal of restraint that I let her crawl off my lap.

Reluctantly getting out of bed, I pull on my dirty jeans, watching as my girl slides on some knickers and a cute little plaid dress she bought somewhere along the tour. It's my favourite and the cheeky girl knows it. I adjust myself, grimacing, before picking up my phone.

**From Esme Cullen:  
><strong>**I want to talk to my daughter-in-law! You can play with her later.**

My girl digs through her toiletry bag for her hairbrush, pausing as she picks up a packet of medication. She pops a tablet from the packet, bringing me the white pill and a bottle of water. Her gentle smile is patient and understanding as I scowl at the medication she places in my hand. Fucking, fucked up brain. The happiest moments of my life and I still need to rely on bloody chemicals to regulate my emotions. I swallow the bitter pill, grimacing before drinking deeply.

"This fucking sucks," I scowl.

"Edward," she sighs, wrapping her slender arms around my waist, "it's okay, you know. I love you."

"I know, Bella, I know," I sigh, burying my nose in her hair. "Most days I'm fine with it; today … it's just rubbish, yeah? It's probably the happiest day of my life and I still have to take a bloody pill to make sure my brain tells my emotions to do the things they're supposed to."

"Baby, I know," Bella whispers. "I'm sorry, Edward."

Bella 's eyes are warm with sympathy and tenderness. She knows I don't need a lecture, just her love and support; and as always, she gives me what I need. I hold her close, pressing a kiss to her lips as she looks up at me. I shake my head at the look of love and adoration in her eyes; it's beyond my comprehension that she, knowing me better than anyone, faults, fucked up brain and all, can still look at me the way she does. It makes me feel ten feet tall.

"A'right, love. Let's speak get the parental placating done."

Bella sighs, nodding reluctantly, before she skips into the bathroom. I start dragging out my laptop, plugging the charger in and turning the blasted thing on. As it sorts itself out, I snag a shirt from the floor and start buttoning it up. Probably not the best idea to Skype Renee looking like I've been doing naughty things to her daughter. Even if I'd really rather be doing said naughty things than talking to our parents.

Bella reappears, fresh-faced, and her hair smooth, so I guess I'm not alone in wanting to look as though we have a modicum of propriety. She moves straight towards me, pouting as she watches me finish buttoning my shirt. I chuckle at her expression, she's clearly as eager to be naked as I am. Capturing that full bottom lip between my own, I kiss her deeply before the fucking laptop starts bleating with the noise of an incoming Skype call.

Bloody cock-blocking family.

Apparently, I say that aloud, and Bella's delightful giggles fill the room. I shoot her a wink before indicating she ought come and join me in front of the laptop screen. Sighing, I wrap my arm around Bella's waist as she perches beside me on the hotel's ugly excuse for a couch. She leans into my side and I press a kiss to her hair before clicking to accept the incoming call.

"Why did you take so long to answer?" Mum's voice is amused and I roll my eyes.

"Do you really want to know, Mum?" I tease.

Mum's face appears on the screen, and I click the video icon before she can start fussing about not being able to see Bella.

"Perhaps not," she acknowledges, smiling as Bella giggles, hiding her face in my chest.

"Congratulations, Bella, Edward. I'm so thrilled for you both."

"Thank you, Esme," Bella responds, smiling softly.

"We're so happy to have you as part of our family, lovey."

My girl smiles, thanking Mum softly, but I can see the emotion welling up in her dark eyes. I squeeze her gently, pressing another kiss to her hair as my mum smiles at us both.

"Well, let's see this ring, then." Mum grins.

"Wait –" I say, grabbing Bella's hand before she can hold it up to the camera. "Where are Dad and Katie? Are they home? Let's just do this once, yeah?"

Mum sighs, rolling her eyes at me, before she turns her head and starts shouting.

"Carlisle! Katie! Edward and Bella are on Skype! Come on, now!"

Dad emerges first, smiling softly at Bella and I.

"Congratulations, Bella, Edward," He smiles. "You've made my son a very happy man, Bella."

"Well, he's made me a very happy girl," she smiles back.

"I'm proud of you, son." Dad murmurs, and I nod my head in appreciation of his words.

"Thanks, Dad. Really."

"Oh dear, she's coming, prepare yourselves." Mum and Dad sigh in resignation as a blonde hurricane comes screaming through the room, hurtling to a stop in front of the computer screen, her blue eyes wide. When she was small, I used to joke that Katie reminded me of the Tasmanian Devil in the old Looney Tunes cartoons, and apparently, not much has changed.

"Bella? Did you say yes? Are you going to be my sister? How did he propose? Can I see the ring? When are you getting married? Can I help you make your dress? I already have a whole bunch of ideas for it, lovey!"

"Katie. Settle down." My sister's excitement is touching, but I don't want her to overwhelm Bella.

"Uh, which question would you like me to answer first?" Bella giggles.

"Obviously, you said yes?" Katie grins.

"Obviously," Bella agrees.

"Don't worry about explaining how he proposed, Bella," Mum interjects, "Emmett sent us a video a little while ago, so she can watch that."

"He did?" I ask, surprised.

"Oh yes, dear. And, it's on the You Tubes anyway. I should have looked there hours ago, instead of waiting for you to call," Mum sniffs, as Bella and I laugh at her. I wonder briefly if Bella is worried about that, it's the one thing I always forget about, people at gigs with camera phones. Mum's been surfing "the You Tubes" for years now, then chastising me for my foul language and the ridiculous stories I tell on stage.

"Are you okay, love? With it being on YouTube?" I ask Bella quietly, looking down into her smiling face.

"Sure," she shrugs. "I want to watch it myself. And I can email a link to Mom, so I don't have to give her a play by play as well."

"You don't mind something private being made so public?"

"Edward," Mum interrupts, and Bella and I both turn our attention back to my family "I got straight on the You Tubes after you texted me back. What, Carlisle? Of course I waited until then! I had to know if she said yes first! Golly, it'd be a bloody awful way to find out she'd turned him down. And, anyway, my point is, Edward, whilst it's pretty clear in most of them that you're proposing, you can't actually hear what you say. So that will always just be between the two of you, and any one who can manage to lip-read footage from camera phones."

"See," says Bella softly, "that's just perfect, really."

"I want to see the ring now!" Katie announces, and Mum starts nodding her head vigorously.

Giggling, Bella holds her hand up to the camera on the laptop, to a chorus of oohs and aahs from my mother and sister, and a nod of approval from my Dad.

"A ruby?" Mum asks, nodding her approval.

"Yeah," I confirm, scratching my chin. "I had every intention of getting a diamond, but I saw this and it just fit, yeah? Unique. Warm, vital, passionate, fiery, vivacious … it's just … Bella."

Bella smiles tenderly at me, shaking her head in her usual self-deprecating way. I press a kiss to her neck, and she leans into my touch.

Presumably because of the way the camera reverses everything, Mum and Dad don't seem notice the fact that the ring is on Bella's right hand. We'll explain it to them eventually, I'm sure, but it can wait.

"So, have you set a date, guys?" Katie asks, bouncing all over the place.

"Uh, we haven't really had a chance to even talk about it," Bella smiles. "But regardless of any other details, yes, Katie, I'd love for you to help me make a dress."

The shriek that escapes my sister's mouth is really quite disturbing, but Bella seems unfazed as she continues to smile. Watching Bella interact with my family always touches me, seeing how easily she just 'fits' with them, the love they have for her, and she for them as she's gotten to know them. However …

"Listen, Mum, Dad, Katie. We need to call Bella's mother, and then I'd really, really like a chance to actually spend some time with my fiancée, yeah?"

"Gross," mutters Katie, wrinkling her nose, and Bella immediately burrows back into my side, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

"No seriously, we haven't even had the opportunity to talk about when and where we'd like to get married, so please … Look, I'm so glad you guys are so excited …"

"It's fine, Edward, we completely understand. We'll speak to you soon."

"Thanks, Dad. Love you guys."

"Love you, Edward, Bella," three different voices cut across each other with their goodbyes.

"Love you guys," Bella whispers, her eyes shining.

I click the button to end the call, before turning to Bella and pulling her into my lap.

"I love you," I mutter against her neck, sighing. "Okay, let's call your mother, and then I believe you promised to have your way with me."

"Wait," Bella flicks open the world clock application on her phone, and I assume she's checking what time it is in Australia. It's not even nine in the morning here, which means it's still quite early in Australia, even if it is tomorrow.

"It's three in the morning there, Edward. I definitely can't call her for at least another four, maybe five hours. Whatever will we do until then?" Bella grins wickedly as I slam the laptop shut. I grab her phone from her hands; stride across the room to pick up mine from where I'd chucked it earlier, and switch them both off. I throw them into my backpack, and have my shirt off a second later. Bella's eyes darken as she regards me where she stands, toying with the hem of her dress.

"Off," I tell her.

She complies with a wink, unzipping it and letting it fall to the floor. Naked, but for some simple black cotton knickers, she is devastatingly desirable. I don't even realizing I've moved until I'm standing in front of her, my eyes still locked on her deep, dark ones. Her expressive eyes are so filled with love and trust and adoration and desire and need and want and reverence and delight and joy and I wonder if I could lose myself in them entirely.

I cup her face gently, stroking her dark hair out of her face as I continue to gaze into those eyes that have owned my heart since the first time they met my own. It is Bella who becomes impatient, taking the final step to close the gap between us, pressing her soft body against my own. Her slender arms snake around my neck before she tugs at my hair until I bring my face level with hers.

"Edward, please, make love to me, please."

Unable to articulate the emotions overwhelming me, I simply nod and allow her to bring my mouth to meet hers. The kiss becomes passionate immediately, like burning coals fanned back into flame, we are immediately consumed. Whimpers and groans escape, though I have no idea which noises belong to me, and which come from Bella.

Bella's hands begin to move, gently tracing down my back, before I feel her fingers move to the buttons of my jeans. As soon as they are sufficiently loose, I am kicking them off, anxious to be rid of them. I walk us carefully toward the edge of the bed, before hooking my fingers in Bella's knickers and sliding them down her legs.

She sits on the edge of the bed and scoots herself backwards, with me following, looming over her. As she reclines, I look down at her, her dark hair fanned around her, her creamy skin begging for me to caress it, taste it, her luscious pink lips, swollen from my kisses, parted slightly as she pants, breathless with want. I contemplate teasing her, getting her a little bit more worked up, but quickly decide against it; this is not the time.

Bella's arms pull at me, so I acquiesce to her demand and lower my body to hers. She whimpers in approval, her hands weaving their way into my hair and tugging sharply. My mouth crashes back to hers, kissing her with every ounce of love and passion and adoration that I can muster. When I pull back to allow us to breathe, Bella squirms against me, her eyes pleading. When I begin to trail soft kisses down her body, she shakes her head.

"No, not now. I just need you, Edward."

"I love you," I whisper, caressing her supple body, discreetly checking that her body is ready for mine. She cries out as my fingers explore, and I croon soft words of love to her as I slowly, gently, reverently enter her, uniting our bodies.

In a way, it feels like we are sealing our declarations, and I feel myself becoming quickly overwhelmed, not only by the feelings of exquisite pleasure that her body draws from mine, but by the torrent of emotions that are cascading through my veins. I can feel tears stinging the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall, unwilling to allow them to cloud my vision of the dark haired beauty that lies beneath me, her mouth open, eyes fluttering closed as she gives herself over to bliss. I follow her swiftly, freefalling into ecstasy, her name falling from my lips. As she promised, she is there to catch me, her delicate fingers caressing my face, her sweet voice whispering words of love and forever.

* * *

><p><strong>Only one more chapter my lovelies, then an epilogue and an outtake or two.<strong>

**So, please, leave me a review. If you're lurking, reading away but shy to comment, please, I'd love to hear how you've been finding this story.**

**I love you all so hard.**

**Shell xx**


	32. December 2013

**Chapter 26: December 2013.**

**A/N: Whew.**

**Before you start reading, please, have a look here to see how I imagine Bella is dressed, I wanted her to look sexy and confident: http:/i1197(dot)/albums/aa432/achelle83/BellasDress(dot)jpg**

**There's a link on my twitter if you prefer. Follow me (at)shellisthimbles.**

* * *

><p>"Ohhh!"<p>

"Oh, Bella!"

"Honey, you look so beautiful!"

"Doesn't she? Oh, darling, you look like you've just walked straight out of 1920! Oh, it's just perfect!"

The smile playing on my lips isn't one I'm forcing to thank my mother and mother-in-law-to-be for their handkerchief waving compliments as they barrel into the room, nor is it one that's the result of building nervous energy; it is a smile of pure, joyful anticipation.

Katie fusses around me like a blue-eyed tornado; re-applying lipstick, fingering my pearls, straightening the feathered hairpiece, checking my dress is sitting how we intended. There's a photographer snapping away, unobtrusively, near the doorway, capturing this moment of feminine frenzy, the last few minutes in which I am Isabella Swan.

In all honesty, I'm wishing I could speed these minutes up. I am ready. A few dozen of our closest friends and family members are gathered in the barrel room of a Napa Valley winery, only a few hundred metres from the bed and breakfast I'm currently itching to leave. In a few minutes, I'm going to walk hand in hand with my Dad, to the place in which I am going to marry my sweet Edward.

"Are you nervous, honey?" Mom is barely managing to control her tears, and her hands flutter around to release her nervous energy.

"Not all, Mom," I smile. "I love Edward with my whole heart; I can't wait to marry him."

Mom smiles back, her sun-streaked hair fluttering as she continues to dance around the room, swirls of colourful fabric following her.

"Izzy –" Mom comes now to stand close to me, the concern in her eyes drawing my attention away from Katie, who is now touching up her own make up.

"It's Bella, Mom," I remind her gently

"Right, sorry; that's going to take some getting used to. Bella, honey … Gosh, I don't know how to ask this …"

"Mom, if you're going to bring up anything about _him_, today of all days, I'm going to be incredibly upset with you."

"No … no, you're right, I'm sorry, sweetie."

"It's okay, Mom. Listen, I'm not nervous, I'm not scared, and I definitely have no regret, you know? Yes, I've walked a difficult path, but how can I worry about that now, when it's brought me to a place of such peace and contentment? And, that's not just Edward, yeah? Of course, he's a huge part of it, but I'm just … happy, Mom. In myself, too. I know who I am now, you know? And I'm thriving."

Mom giggles a little, "You know you're starting to talk like him, _yeah_?"

The sound of a masculine throat clearing causes my head to snap up.

"Are you all ready, Bells?" Dad asks, tugging uncomfortably at his tie.

"Definitely," I grin.

"Oh! We should go then!" Esme fusses, "Come on Katie, Renee. It's time!"

Kisses are pressed to cheeks and hands are squeezed as the three women make their exit; leaving Dad and I alone, but for the photographer who continues to snap away, unnoticed. Dad stuffs his hands into his pants pockets, his moustache twitching as he surveys me. As much as I don't want to think of it, there's a small part of my mind that can't help remember that Dad and I have been here before. I allow myself to remember, just for a moment, just to appreciate how different things feel right now. How right everything feels this time around. No nerves, no apprehensions, no second-guesses; just blissful anticipation.

"You look beautiful, honey," he says quietly. "Not just all this," he waves his hand at me, "but in your eyes, in your heart. It's, uh, I mean, your happiness is … I dunno … almost tangible."

"Thanks Dad," I whisper. "I'm not sure I've ever been this happy."

"I'm so proud of you, Isabella, you know that, right? I'm so proud of the strength you have shown over the last couple of years, honey."

"Thank you, Dad. I love you."

"I love you too, honey. Always have, always will."

"Well, there's a young man across the way who's about driving everyone crazy with his excitement; you wanna go put him out of his misery?"

"Definitely."

"Uh, it's warm inside, but have you got a coat or something, it's freezing outside?"

I nod, picking up the vintage red cashmere wrap that Katie and I found for this purpose. I throw it across my shoulders before taking my Dad's hand.

"Ready?"

"So ready."

* * *

><p>Edward and I decided early on to keep our wedding simple, private and personal. We felt no need to invite anyone beyond our closest friends and family members, and we agreed to dispense with bridesmaids and groomsmen and bouquets and bombonières and all the other nonsense that goes with a wedding.<p>

My walking down an 'aisle' with my Dad was important to Edward, so that is what I'm preparing to do as I unwrap myself from my red woolen cocoon. It's not so much about Dad "giving me away", because only I can make that choice, but it is about the fact that Edward has told me that he has dreamed for so long of that moment ,of watching me walk slowly towards him, that perfect moment of anticipation before we speak our vows and bind ourselves to one another.

He also asked for creative control over the music, so I'm actually not sure what to expect as Dad and I stop at the heavy timber doors. Edward's only instructions were "when the music starts, count to twenty, then start walking."

One of the winery's employees pokes his head out of the heavy timber doors, asking quietly if I'm ready. He ducks back inside, and a minute or so later, he and another man pull the doors open dramatically, just as the music of a single guitar begins to play. It's a piece I don't recognize, but it is clearly Edward's own composition, I can tell by the clever finger-picking, as well as the fact I can feel his very heart and soul in the melody: complex and beautiful.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, before I focus my gaze on the end of the long room. I'm vaguely aware of the faces of friends and family turning in their seats to regard Dad and I, but my eyes are on the man standing before me; guitar in his arms. My smile is soft and adoring; the sweet boy is quite literally playing me down the aisle.

Twenty seconds seems an interminable stretch of time; and as I count, Dad squeezes my hand where it rests on his arm. Grinning at my Dad, I nod my head, and we begin to walk, as Edward's fingers continue to dance across the strings of his guitar. The urge to run, to throw myself into his arms is strong, but I force myself to match Dad's steady pace.

Edward's face comes into focus as we step closer. He is smoothly shaven, his bronze hair dancing the line between tame and wild as only it can. Edward's green eyes are sparkling with joy and delight; and he makes no attempt to hide the tears that track down his cheeks. His fingers dance across the strings, drawing the notes of sweet joy from heart into life through his guitar. I smile softly at him as we approach, and my heart races as he returns the gesture.

When Dad and I finally, finally reach the front of the room, Edward draws his playing to a close, and quickly sets the guitar down. My breath catches as I take him in; a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black pants, black tie, black suspenders, and a pair of black and white wingtips. I'm vibrating with desire as I take him in, and Edward's cheeky wink as Dad places my hand in his tells me I'm not the only one who is feeling this way.

Our vows are simple promises to love and cherish and honour and delight in each other for all our days. We don't exchange rings; the tattoos that mark our fingers already serve that purpose. The words flow around me, but my focus is on the green eyes in front of me, the familiar hands clasping mine, and, at the appropriate time, the sweet lips that meet mine in our first kiss as husband and wife. I hear the cheers and whistles as we are declared married, but I cannot think beyond the gentle dance of Edward's lips on mine as he wordlessly professes his love and I proclaim mine in return.

* * *

><p>We pose for photographs amongst the vines, playfully laughing, kissing and losing ourselves in each other's eyes. Edward dons a black fedora for a few pictures, and I gather the red shawl around me when it becomes too chilly. Edward's hands never leave me, as we dance to music only we can hear, accepting the photographer's instructions for a few minutes before we forget ourselves again.<p>

"I love you," Edward whispers from behind me, his hands on my hips and his chin on my shoulder.

"As I love you," I smile.

"This dress needs to come off soon," he chuckles, his nose tracing the line of my neck. "Fuck, Bella, you look so bloody sexy, I want you. I need you, love."

"That hat makes me crazy Edward, you're never allowed to get rid of it," I murmur, reaching behind me to tug at the hair on the back of his neck. I chuckle as he groans, pushing his hard body against me.

"Edward! Bella! They're ready to serve lunch, okay?"

Edward groans as he pulls away from me, but recaptures my hand.

"Why did we think this was a good idea?" he mutters.

"Because," I smirk, "we can be done with lunch in an hour, and we only have to drive up a short way up the road before we can get started with the honeymoon."

"Mmm," Edward's lips find mine again, the passion and need in his kisses increasing. "I'm not sure I can wait an hour."

"You're going to have to," I giggle. "We need to thank our friends and family Edward, their support has been amazing these last few months. And then, I'm all yours, baby, forever."

"I really like the sound of that," he smiles, offering me his arm.

* * *

><p>"Uh, hi."<p>

There are a few chuckles as Edward scrubs his hand across his face, before he begins to speak again. He wasn't keen on using a microphone, but it's just easier. Even if there are only two-dozen guests here, he won't need to raise his voice at all.

"Listen, I don't have a lot to say, really. I wanted to thank you all for being here today: it's been the greatest day of my life, and it's not even half done yet."

A whistle from Emmett's direction has Edward rolling his eyes.

"No really; you can see we wanted to keep things small and intimate, and you're all the people that matter the most to Bella and I, and we're so grateful you could join us today." I squeeze Edward's waist, and he grins down at me before continuing. "Mum and Dad, thank you all for your support. I love you all. You've been an amazing source of support to me, always, and you always will be. Thank you both for giving me such an amazing example of what love looks like. Katie, I can't thank you enough for your helping Bella with her dress; she looks stunning. More importantly, I want to say that I love you so much, sis. I'm so proud of the woman you've grown in to.

"Charlie, Renee, I, uh, you guys have done an amazing job of loving and caring for Bella, raising her to be the gorgeous, kind, intelligent woman that she is, and I wanted to thank you for that. Thank you for welcoming me into your families so genuinely, for supporting Bella and I in everything.

"All of you know both Bella's and my history, so you know that there was a time that it was inconceivable to me that Bella would ever be able to love me the way I love her. I'm still not sure it's fully sunk in that this is real; that I've really married the girl I love more than anything in the world. Sometimes I still feel the need to pinch myself to make sure I haven't dreamed this all up." Edward turns to me, his eyes soft, glowing with love and adoration.

"Bella, I love you. I don't even know how to put it into words, how f – , er, how much I love you. Sweet girl, I don't even know how to write it into a song. But I intend to spend every day of my life _showing_ you just how much I love you, and just how overjoyed I am that you agreed to be my wife. I'm certain I'll screw things up at times, and I'll piss you off, and I'll say stupid things when I'm tired and grumpy, but I'll never stop loving you. I can't wait to spend the rest of our lives together, sweetheart. I love you, so very much."

"I love you," I whisper, unashamed of the tears that his words have brought forth.

Edward hands the microphone of the nearest person, before pulling me into his arms and kissing me soundly. Cheers and catcalls echo around the room, as he deepens the kiss, gently sucking on my bottom lip. I immediately respond, lost in the sweetness of the kiss and the feelings of Edward's arms surrounding me.

When we finally break apart, breathing a little heavier, we know we need to wrap things up and get the hell out of here. We cut a cake and drink some champagne, allowing friends and family to drag us apart to chat a bit more and accept their best wishes and congratulations.

I'm laughing with Alice, Rose and Katie when I feel Edward behind me. His arms slip around my waist and his face appears over my shoulder, nuzzling into my neck.

"Ugh," Katie's nose wrinkles. "You two need to go, please. Go on! Go away and go do whatever it is married people do."

Edward's chuckle reverberates through my chest, and he bites down gently on my shoulder, causing me to gasp and shiver. His voice is low, for my hearing only.

"Come on, love. Say your goodbyes, yeah? I need you alone, sweet girl."

"Give me two minutes?" I ask, smiling up at him.

"Of course," he places a kiss on my forehead, telling me softly to hurry.

I grab Rose and pull her after me to find Dad.

"Dad? Can I have my stuff?" Dad immediately digs his hands into his pockets, pulling out my keys, lipstick and a folded piece of paper.

I slip a key off the chain and hand it to Rose, along with the paper. She unfolds the paper, and looks over it quickly, nodding her head as she reads.

"Aye, this is fine, lovey. Not a problem at all."

"Thanks, Rose, really."

"It'll be our pleasure, lassie. You guys have a good time, yeah?"

"See you soon," I grin, hugging her tightly.

* * *

><p>Finally, finally, we are alone; driving towards the bed and breakfast we're spending the next two weeks in. We had toyed with the idea of going to Paris, but we both decided that could wait. We decided we needed to honeymoon somewhere that we wouldn't feel obligated to actually leave our bed.<p>

"This look, on you," Edward grins, "is really fucking sexy, you know that right?"

"I was hoping you'd like it," I smile. "I'm hoping you'll like what's underneath it even more." Edward groans and swears, and I can't help the snicker that escapes me.

"I've got to say Edward; the fedora, suspenders and wingtips make me a little crazy too."

"Is that right?" he murmurs, "I'll have to remember that."

The car slows as Edward pulls into the driveway of the …

"Okay, this is _not_ a bed and breakfast, Edward."

"I know. People want to talk to you and shit in bed and breakfasts."

"What the hell is this place?"

"It's the Auberge du Soleil. Apparently, it's one of the ten most romantic hotels in the world."

"Oh."

By the time we walk into to the private maison that is ours for the next two weeks, I'm feeling a little overwhelmed at the sheer luxury that surrounds us.

"This place is amazing, Edward," I tell him softly.

"No, love," Edward murmurs, gathering me into his arms as we stand on the balcony, looking out over the valley in the afternoon sun. "This place is nice. _You_ are amazing."

I roll my eyes at him as he wraps the red shrug more tightly around me; the afternoon air is cold and crisp.

"Do you want to rest, sweet girl?" he asks, kissing me softly.

"No," I mumble, my mind distracted by the feel of his lips against my own. I kiss him hungrily, losing my grip on the wrap. Goosebumps spring up on my arms, though I'm not sure whether that's from the cold or the sensuous way Edward's mouth is dancing with mine.

"Come," he whispers, "there's a fire going already in the bedroom."

I move to walk away, but Edward pulls me back suddenly, ducking down to lift me into his arms. I giggle at him, but he shushes me, his green eyes sparkling.

"I've waited a long time to do this, Mrs Cullen," he smiles, carrying me back into the master bedroom.

"Why thank you, Mr Cullen," I giggle, enjoying the sound of my new name in his accent. Edward sets me to my feet in front of the fireplace, before closing the doors that lead to the balcony.

"Do you need the bathroom?" he asks, appearing behind me, pulling the wrap off my shoulders and tracing his nose down the length of my neck. I shake my head, breathing heavily and I feel his lips quirk into a smile against my shoulder.

"Um, can you take your hairpiece off, sweet girl? I don't want to pull your hair."

I comply; quickly removing it, and the strings of pearls from around my neck, as well as unpinning my hair, letting it cascade down around my shoulders. Edward gathers the tendrils carefully; pushing them over my shoulder as he moves his attention to undoing the pearl buttons that travel down my spine.

"This dress is so fucking sexy, Bella. I can't believe you and Katie made it."

Carefully, he slides the straps off my shoulders, causing the dress to slip to the floor, a pool of silky white at my feet. Edward sucks in a breath as he takes in my appearance.

"Fuck … No bra," he croaks.

"No, it didn't work with the cut of the dress," I smirk as I turn to face him.

"I, uh, I really, really like these," he rasps, indicating the white patent pumps, thigh-high stockings and lacy garter belt.

Feeling sexier than I've felt in my life, wearing nothing but heels and stockings, I grab Edward by his suspenders and pull him to me, hard. He groans deeply as I crash my mouth to his. I kiss him feverishly, blood boiling in my veins as desire consumes me.

"Too many clothes, Mr Cullen," I breath against his neck, my fingers at the top of his pants. Edward takes a step back, breathing heavily as he kicks of the wingtips and starts tugging at his tie. We work together to divest him of his shirt and pants, and soon he is naked before me; his body making it quite clear just how aroused he is.

I kick off my shoes, but Edward shakes his head when I move to unclip the stockings from the garter belt.

"No, please, Mrs Cullen, leave them."

"Uh, I can't get my knickers off if I don't," I giggle.

Edward frowns for a moment, his fingers tracing the lace of my panties. Abruptly, he turns and starts rummaging through his toiletry bag. He pulls some nail scissors out, winking at me, before he carefully makes an incision on either side of my panties. Smirking, he chucks the scissors back in the bag, and uses his strong, nimble fingers to shred the lace of my knickers on one side, before he moves to the other side. He pulls the destroyed underthings away, looking down to study his handiwork. I can't help the moan that escapes my lips as Edward studies me, his eyes dark and wanting.

Our mouths meet again, need and desire and want and passion and I love you all coming together intensely. Edward guides me to the bed, never breaking our kiss, laying me down on the soft covers. He looms over me, still kissing me deeply. He pulls away to give me a chance to breathe, love and worship in his eyes as he looks down at me.

"I love you, so much," he whispers.

"I love you, Edward."

His fingers begin to explore, and within minutes he draws my first climax from me, as I whimper and moan in pleasure. His mouth follows the same path, again causing waves of bliss to crash over me as he licks and kisses and nibbles and sucks and kisses and licks and sucks and nibbles until I'm begging him to stop.

"Please, Edward. I need you."

"I'm here, sweet girl. My sweet, sexy girl. My wife. My Bella. Ohhhh fuck," Edward moans as he finds his way within me, joining us, uniting us, forging us together.

I push on his shoulders, forcing him to roll on to his back, and he holds me tight so that the movement does not separate us. Pushing myself up, I look down at Edward as we continue to roll our hips together.

"Oh Bella, oh love," he sigh as I continue to move over him, arching in pleasure as his hands make their way to tease my breasts.

Our movements speed as we draw closer to ecstasy, giving and taking from each other as our bodies dance with easy familiarity. I lean forward to kiss his sweet lips, exchanging breaths as we gasp in pleasure. I feel Edward speed the movement of his hips, and my body responds intuitively. Gasping and shuddering, we fall apart together; disintegrating completely as we surrender to each other with words of love and fidelity.

* * *

><p>Our two weeks pass quietly, an unsurpassed level of contentment swirling around us as we laze in front of the fire, content to enjoy each the warmth and our own company. We read, sometimes to each other, and we dance when Edward puts a record on, he holds me close and croons softly to me as we giggle and stumble our way around.<p>

Some days, we bundle up in scarves and gloves and wooly hats and wander hand-in-hand, exploring the beautiful countryside. And some days we sit on the balcony, Edward pulling me into his lap and holding me close, as though he still can't quite believe I'm real.

He teaches me how to play a few chords on his guitar, and laughs at the way my clumsy hands can't manage to find a rhythm to strum. He writes me songs every morning as we eat our breakfast. Sometimes they're silly, crude ditties that make me laugh, sometimes they're sexy croonings that make me demand he take me back to bed immediately, and sometimes they're heartfelt declarations of love that make me weep.

More than anything we talk, and talk, and talk, dreaming and scheming and planning and imagining and playing and affirming and sharing and loving, loving, loving each other until I wonder if there's enough room in my heart to contain the love I have for this beautiful man.

* * *

><p>"Are you sad to be going?" I murmur softly as Edward loads the last of our things back into the car in the dawn light.<p>

He contemplates the question for a few moments before he answers.

"Yes and no," he smiles. "I don't think I've ever been as happy as I have these last two weeks, so yes, love, I'm sad to have to leave. But, at the same time, I'm so ready to start our life together, yeah? I can't wait, Bella."

I kiss him softly before we clamber into the SUV.

"Let's go home, Edward."

* * *

><p>As we head north, nerves start to flutter in my belly. We take turns driving, and I make sure I'm behind the wheel for the last stretch. Edward dozes off an hour from home and I grin to myself, giddy butterflies taking up residence in my stomach.<p>

I don't wake him until we pull into the drive.

"Edward, wake up, my love."

He jerks upright, looking around in the fading light of the late afternoon through bleary eyes. I see the moment recognition crosses his features.

"Portland?"

"Mmmhmm." I'm nervous as hell as I watch his expression morph from confusion to understanding, his eyes taking in the "SOLD" sign that has been placed on the front lawn.

"You bought it?"

"Uh, yeah."

"You didn't tell me?"

"You're not the only one who likes to surprise, my love."

"Really? You really bought it?"

"I really did."

Edward is ought of the car and pulling me my seat in a matter of seconds. His embrace is fierce as he peppers my face with kisses.

"I take it you're okay with it, then?" I giggle, smiling up at him.

"Of course I am, dearest!" he laughs, his smile exultant.

"Here," I smile, handing him the key to our house.

Edward and I had viewed a few houses on the outskirts of Portland just after we got engaged and had fallen in love with this one immediately, both of us admitting that it was exactly the kind of house we could imagine raising a family in. I convinced him that we ought wait until we got back from our honeymoon to buy, but immediately contacted Jenks about getting the ball rolling.

"Come on, then," he grins, taking my hand and pulling me towards the front door. He chuckles in delight as he unlocks the door, pushing it open but not stepping inside. Instead, he sweeps me up into his arms, grinning down at me.

"Best. Wife. Ever," he laughs. Carefully stepping over the threshold, he presses a gentle kiss to my lips before returning me to my feet. As he looks up, his gasp of surprise causes me to giggle again.

"How?"

"Everyone helped," I smile. "Rose and Em, your family, Dad and Sue, Alice and Jasper. They offered to do it as a wedding present to us, so that we could come back here straight away."

Laughing delightedly, Edward drags me from room to room, admiring the hours and hours of hard work our friends and family have undertaken to get our house set up for us in our absence. Every room is freshly painted and fully furnished; some of it the stuff from our apartment, some I picked out before we left, and some that I entrusted to Rose's judgment.

"This way," I smile, leading Edward up the stairs toward the master bedroom. When I swing open the door, it is my turn to gasp in surprise. The room is all white, except for one wall, which is a deep blue. I had explained to Rosalie that I intended to have a few wedding photos framed and hung on this wall. And there, neatly but asymmetrically arranged, as I prefer, are half a dozen or so large, framed photographs from our wedding day. I move toward it quickly, pulling Edward with me to examine them.

The first is of Dad and I as we talk softly, preparing to make our way across to the ceremony, quiet contentment an almost visible aura surrounding us. The second is Edward smiling and laughing with Emmett, giddy with anticipation, as they await my arrival. The third is taken over my shoulder as I make my way down the aisle toward Edward; the tearful joy on his face captured to perfection. My heart thumps wildly as I realize I will never forget that moment. The fourth is a picture of the kiss that sealed our marriage.

The fifth is a family portrait of sorts, though it is not stiff or posed. It is our family gathered together talking and laughing: Edward and I are to the left of the group, our eyes only for each other. It's a riotously colourful picture and it makes me smile as I take it in.

The final two are Edward and I, from the series the photographer took out in the vineyard, and clearly when Edward and I were not paying attention to him. In one, the photographer has skillfully captured the lines of vines fanning across the field. Edward and I are walking away from the camera, our faces turned toward each other, hands clasped between us.

In the last, the photographer has captured, closely, the moment just before or after a kiss: our faces are less than a centimeter apart, our eyes shining with love and delight.

Edward's hand in mine drags me back from my thoughts, as he pulls me into his arms and holds me tight. After a moment, he releases me; cupping my face gently in his hands, his fingers tenderly sweeping away the tears that wet my cheeks, unbeknownst to me. He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead, a gesture of his love that he has repeated thousands of times.

"I love you, Bella. Thank you, sweet girl, thank you so much for doing this."

"I love you too, Edward. Welcome home."

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue will be up in a few days. Please, please review for me my lovelies.<strong>

**I love you all so much!**

**Shell xx**


	33. Epilogue: May 2016

**Epilogue: May 2016**

**A/N: This is it, my lovelies. :'(**

* * *

><p><strong>SOUND! Magazine, April 2016<strong>

**Out of Darkness, Light.**

_SOUND!_'s Bree Tanner catches up with Grammy Award winning artist Edward Cullen to chat about music, family, and his newest venture.

When the somewhat reclusive singer-songwriter, **Edward Cullen**, accepted _SOUND!_'s request for an interview, it would be fair to say we were shocked. The three time Grammy Award winner is known to be fiercely protective of his private life, rarely agreeing to interviews or photo shoots, so more than a few eyebrows were raised in our offices when Cullen agreed to let us visit him in his Portland home.

When asked what prompted his surprising acceptance of our offer, the British-born singer, who's approaching his 32nd birthday, simply shrugs, his hand immediately diving into his unwashed, oddly coloured hair. Cullen isn't known for his loquaciousness, unless of course he's on stage. Armed with his guitar and a beer, one could be forgiven for thinking they'd walked in on a stand-up comic's routine. That is, until he puts the beer down and starts playing.

There's no mistaking the young Brit's talent. Edward Cullen picked up a guitar at the age of seven, and rarely puts it down now. His complex, finger-picking style, combined with an innate ability to capture raw emotion in his powerful lyricism has brought him a great deal of critical acclaim. "The lyrics have always come first," he acknowledges. "I suppose, I write poetry, and I set it to a melody. I know that's not how a lot of songwriters work, but I don't know how to do it any differently, yeah?"

Cullen first started writing songs as a teenager, "they were utter rubbish," he laughs, "melodramatic nonsense." He truly began honing his skills and testing out what seemed to resonate with people as he played open-mic nights around London.

"I moved to London the minute I finished school," he tells us. "I met this crazy Scottish f*#er and his girlfriend and we had this disgusting little flat. They were studying acting, and I was teaching guitar by day, then several playing open-mic nights a week."

Much of Edward Cullen's earliest work went unnoticed, mostly due to his friendship with the aforementioned "f*#er", who is better known as Hollywood superstar, Scottish-born **Emmett McCarty**. When McCarty exploded on to the silver screen, heralded as the "Gen-Y's Sean Connery", Cullen's name was dragged along with him.

"Serious" music aficionados sniffed at Cullen's popularity with young women, most of whom only attended his shows in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the film-star, who frequently brought his wife, screen siren **Rosalie Hale**, to support their mate as he played his way through pubs and bars around the country, trying to get his music heard. "When Em was filming in the States, I'd hop the pond and try to play a few gigs, tiny little places, yeah? And Em and Rose would try to come to support me, but these crazy birds would catch sight of the bloody git, and they'd get on twitter or whatever, and the next thing there'd be hundreds of screaming girls trying to get in. It was insane."

It was Cullen's third studio album, _Broken Strings_, released in 2013, which forced the critics sit up and take notice. The album, which he recorded with one of the local youth symphony orchestras, is a masterpiece. It's a complex look at despair, hope and love, handled with a maturity and sensitivity that belied Cullen's youth. _Broken Strings_ landed him the 2014 Grammy Award for _Folk Album of the Year_. He's taken the same award home for three consecutive years now; backing up in 2015 with the self-titled album _Edward Cullen_, and again this year with the widely acclaimed _post tenebras lux_ (It's Latin, it means "after darkness, comes light").

"Uh, it's a concept I can truly relate to," Cullen smiles slightly when we ask after the unusual title. "I've battled depression for a long time. I still do. But darkness doesn't last, yeah? Light always follows. But sometimes you can't see it though, and that's when you need someone else to hold that lantern for you. To keep telling you it's there, that there is hope, that you will get through today."

Despite the privacy Edward Cullen craves, his battle with depression is one thing he'll willingly speak up about at any opportunity. "We're constantly being bombarded with various campaigns raising awareness, yeah? Breast cancer awareness, lung cancer awareness, diabetes, obesity, everything: we're being made aware of so many health issues constantly. But public health campaigns regarding mental illness have been spectacularly lacking."

So Cullen and his wife, **Isabella Cullen**, are taking matters in to their own hands, with a little help from their celebrity mates.

"We started The Lantern Foundation as a way of connecting people struggling with mental health issues to the help they need. Basically, we wanted to help people to get information about mental health issues, and it grew from there. So there's a website with a whole lot of resources we've made available to people, stuff that's been developed by trained psychiatrist and psychologists. There's a hotline people can call for if they just need to talk, and that's manned by trained counselors, who can hopefully point people in the right direction to get the help they need. We're also seeking to fund research in various universities and centres, focused on understanding mental illness, and how we best treat it."

Cullen's wife, Isabella, or 'Bella', as she insists on being called, has also battled depression, and she, like her husband, isn't afraid to talk about it. The young writer, who has been causing a stir in literary circles with her debut novel _Deserving_, an incredibly chilling portrayal of the horrors of spousal abuse, is just as passionate on the subject as her husband.

"Depression is an illness, it's not something to be ashamed of. That's our biggest challenge, really, overcoming the stigma attached to mental illness. People won't speak up and ask for help if they're made to feel shame. The Lantern Foundation is focused on telling people: you're not broken, you're not a failure, and there is help available. There is hope, for everyone."

The Cullen's are certainly keeping busy. Between campaigning and fund-raising for their foundation, Edward's busily recording a new album, as well as producing a few of the younger artist's signed to his label, Volturi Records. Bella's second novel is due out around Christmas time; apparently this one will be much more cheerful in it's subject matter!

And yet, despite the various balls they're keeping in the air; the couple is most excited about their latest joint venture. They're expecting their first child in June –

* * *

><p>"Hey!" I pout as Edward rips the magazine out of my hands, "I hadn't finished reading that!"<p>

He shrugs, grinning wickedly. Pretending to be annoyed, I turn my back on him, moving from the kitchen table to busy myself with turning the kettle on. As I expect, it's all of three seconds before his hands are on my hips, his body pressed to my back.

"Bella, love, do you _really_ want a cup of tea, right now?"

I shrug, feigning disinterest as his nose slides up my neck.

"Care to make me a better offer?"

I feel Edward's chuckle reverberate through his chest as he presses kisses to my neck and shoulder. His arms move to encircle my enormous belly, his hands gentle as he rubs it softly. Spinning me to face him, he drops to his knees and places tender kisses over my swollen abdomen.

"Hey you," he murmurs, "You're going to come and meet us soon, yeah? I love you, but you're really starting to get in the way down there. Best come out soon, a'ight, give your Mum a rest."

Tears well in my eyes as he continues to murmur soft words to our growing child. He or she responds by kicking or elbowing him in the head as he rests his cheek against my stretched skin.

"Oof," he mutters, "have it your way then, come out when you're ready."

Edward looks up at me from where he kneels, his green eyes sparkling. As soon as he sees my tears, his expression becomes concerned.

"Are you okay, sweet girl? Are you hurting?"

"No, silly," I sniffle, "It's just you; why do you have to be so fucking sweet all the time?"

Edward's hand goes to his hair, tugging the bronze strands away from his eyes. My hands follow his, gently pushing his hair back from his face, before they begin to trace the strong curves of his cheek and jaw. My thumb traces across his full bottom lip, my mood shifting again. Edward catches the change immediately, his lips curling into a smirk.

"Again?" he asks, his eyebrow arching at me.

"Yes," I whine. "Fucking hormones."

"No pun intended, obviously?"

"Ungh, Edward," I complain. "Don't tease."

"I'm not teasing, sweet girl, you know I'll take care of you. And, for the record, love, I love your fucking hormones." Edward's voice is low and husky and it sends shivers through me.

He rocks back on to his feet to stand, pulling me as close as my huge belly will allow and kissing me softly. Impatiently, my fingers curl into his hair, tugging his closer, begging him to deepen the kiss. He toys with me for a moment, continuing to gently brush his lips against my own and I groan in frustration. I can feel Edward's lips curl into a smirk against mine and I pull his hair harder, capturing his bottom lip between my own and sucking on it, hard.

It is Edward's turn to groan, and my turn to smirk, as he deepens the kiss, his tongue tangling with mine. I respond to his urgency, matching his intensity and surpassing it, ratcheting the tension even higher as I squirm, frustrated. My distended belly makes it impossible for me to get the friction I want in the places I desire it. A pathetic whimper escapes my lips and I blush crimson at the neediness the noise reveals. Edward pulls back, his eyes concerned.

"Come," he murmurs, taking my hands and pulling me towards the stairs. He stops abruptly, and I nearly run into him, surprised by his sudden halt. Edward's eyes are focused on the window, watching the gentle spring rain as it patters against the glass. A wicked smirk curls his lips, as he starts moving again, tugging me up the stairs toward out bedroom.

"Wait here, yeah?" he says softly, pushing open the door to our private balcony. He stands in the rain for a few moments, watching the rain fall gently on to his forearm.

"Edward? What are you doing, baby?"

"Just checking it's not too cold," he responds, his eyes roaming around the little balcony. Privacy screens enclose the small deck, so we can sit out here in our pyjamas without being seen by overly friendly neighbours.

Edward stalks back into the bedroom, leaving the balcony doors open. He makes his way to the linen press, rifling through it furiously.

"Edward? What on earth is going on in that mind of yours, love?" There's a hint of frustration in my voice; I want him, now, and he's busy rummaging through our sheets and towels.

Edward grins as he grabs a couple of beach towels.

"It's raining, love."

"Yes, I can see that," I mutter patiently. "In fact, it's now dripping into the house on account of the balcony doors being left open," I sigh, watching a few more drips splatter to the floorboards of our bedroom.

Edward throws a few bath towels on to the bed, before he walks back outside, placing the beach towels across one of the reclining deck chairs. Nodding to himself, he steps back inside and begins unbuttoning his shirt. Well, this I'm much more on board with. His jeans follow, and I take in my naked husband's form greedily.

"Do you not remember, love?" he asks, as he steps behind me, sweeping my hair away from my neck, and toying with the zip that runs down my back.

"Remember what?" I huff, spinning away from Edward in frustration. I jerk the zip on my dress down and step out of it quickly. "Less cryptic words and more nakedness," I pout, unclasping my bra and throwing it at Edward, before sliding my knickers down my hips.

"Bella," he murmurs, pressing his body against my back, as his hands move to cup my full breasts. He can't keep his hands off them lately, and I'm not complaining, they're so fucking sensitive at the moment.

"Mmm," is all the coherency I can manage as his callused fingertips begin to tease my nipples.

"Do you still not remember?"

"Remember what, Edward?" I ask, stifling the moan that threatens to claw it's way out my throat as his fingers continue to pull and pinch and tease and twist and stroke.

Wrapping his arms around me, Edward begins to walk us across the room. Not pausing as he reaches the open balcony doors, he walks us straight out into the spring rain.

Oh?

Oh.

_Oh._

"I remember," I murmur.

Edward releases me, turning me to face him and capturing my lips in a passionate kiss. His hands move to gently cup my jaw and I feel the adoration and love as his lips continue to move against mine. When he pulls back, I suck in a breath as I take in his appearance. The rain is dampening and darkening his hair, causing it to fall forward into his face. I watch, transfixed, as a raindrop lands above his eyebrow, tracing down his cheek, his jaw. I press my tongue to his throat as it continues to slide down his skin, capturing the tiny drop liquid between my lips.

Edward's exhales shakily as I pull back, and his eyes begin to follow the droplets of water as they fall from the grey clouds, spattering against my bare chest and shoulders. I'm squirming again, aroused and uncomfortable.

Edward spreads the towels across the deck chair before he sits, reclining, and indicating for me to sit on his lap. I straddle him carefully, his hands gripping my forearms. I note, with a soft smile, the concern that Edward can't quite hide from me: even as he seeks to fulfill one of my fantasies, he is careful, cautious, loving, adoring.

Carefully, Edward guides my hips as our naked flesh rocks together. The coolness of the drops of rain as they pitter-patter against my hot skin is overwhelming, and I can feel the need and desperation coiling quickly. It's an effort to reach Edward's lips with my own, but I learn forward, and he closes the distance, his stomach flexing with the effort it takes to lift his mouth to my own. Lips and tongues dance and Edward bites gently on my lower lip, causing a breathy moan to slip from me.

He helps me lift my hips carefully as he senses my need expanding, groans and whimpers of delight falling from our lips as he slowly, carefully, finds his way inside me. I pause as we become joined, looking down at the sweet man who owns my heart. My husband, the father of our growing child, my best friend, my lover, the man who seeks to bring my every desire, my every fantasy to life. Hot tears slip down my cheeks, mingling with the cool splashes of rain as it continues to fall upon us.

"I love you," I sob.

Edward's smile is tender as he looks up at me.

"As I love you," he murmurs.

He holds me gently as I begin to rock and twist my hips above him; his hands grounding me as I become lost in sensation and ecstasy. Our playful fantasy has become charged with deep, intense emotion and I surrender to it, trusting Edward to catch me when I fall.

And fall I do; bliss and pleasure overwhelming me as we yield to one another, giving and taking, clinging to one another with all the strength we can muster.

When our breathing slows, when the sensations fade and we reemerge, the love swelling in my heart is almost too much to bear. Edward carefully helps me to my feet, guiding me back inside and immediately wrapping me in dry towels. Unable to speak, I allow him to care for me, as he gently dries my rain-soaked skin, and squeezes the excess water from the lengths of my hair. He pulls one of his own plaid flannel shirts over my head and leads me towards our bed.

On the edge of sleep, cradled in his arms, I remember the words I need to say.

"I love you," I mumble, forcing my heavy eyes to open and meet his emerald gaze. "I love you, Edward, so much."

"I love you, sweet girl," he smiles, "I always will."

Sleep drags me toward oblivion, a satiation that goes beyond physical satisfaction to the depths of my very soul enclosing me. Yet even as I drift towards unconsciousness, I'm still aware of Edward's lips seeking out their favourite place, pressing another tender kiss to my forehead.

* * *

><p><strong>Well … that's that. There will be at least two outtakes, possibly more if inspiration strikes. They'll take a little while to appear though; I've neglected my uni studies terribly to post this story as quickly as I could.<strong>

**I also have another couple of ideas I'm exploring, so please, put me on author alert if you'd like to read anything else I manage to conjure up.**

**Finally. Thank you all so very much. This is my first ever fanfic, and my first serious attempt at writing. It has been an absolute revelation. **

**I want to thank every single one of you who has read, favourited, lurked, reviewed, or recommended this story. Your kind words have been utterly amazing, and I can't thank those of you who have reviewed or messaged me enough. I love you all, so much. **

**To all those people who have let me know over the course of this story being posted, that they too have battled with depression; I want to say to you, you are stronger than you know. I have hope for you. **

_**post tenebras spero lucem**_** … After darkness, I hope for light.**

**Again, thank you all so very much.**

**Love, Shell xx**


	34. Outtake 1: June 2016

**June 2016.**

**A/N: Uh, surprise? **

**This is essentially two out-takes in one!**

**Also, if you've ever wanted to see what I picture when I think of Edward, check this out: vimeo(dot)com/30657341 **

**Chapter song: **_**Where You Lay**_**, Bobby Long.**

* * *

><p>The tiny babe in my arms may have her eyes open, but they're unfocused, the child is too young to really know what she's looking at. I wonder briefly if she'll inherit her Daddy's emerald green eyes, or those big brown eyes of her Ma's. At the moment, they're that purple-blue that every newborn sports. When do they usually change colour? I can't remember.<p>

I smile as I press a kiss to her tiny forehead; her full cap of hair tickling my nose. The odd bronze colour of her wispy hair is clearly her father's genetic bequest.

"Do wee babies usually have this much hair?" I wonder. Rosie swiftly kicks me in the shins, and I realize a moment too late that people probably don't usually like you questioning whether their brand new bairn is normal.

Bella doesn't seem fussed though as she laughs sleepily.

"With him as her Daddy?" she giggles, pointing to Edward's unruly mop of hair. "If we'd had a boy, he'd have come out needing to shave."

Edward smiles gently at his exhausted wife, pressing a kiss to her forehead. It's a gesture I've seen him make thousands of times since he met the lass he now calls his wife, one that has always perfectly suited their relationship. Tender, considerate, caring, and affectionate. They're perfect for each other, truly. I saw it the moment Edward introduced us to Bella; he'd found his soul mate. At the time it broke my heart, knowing she was married to _him_. But God, or fate, has been kind to these two; bringing them together despite all the obstacles, and now blessing them with a sweet child, my goddaughter.

I smile down at little Clara as she gurgles in my arms. Her tiny features are so perfect, and I smile in wonder as she reflexively grips my index finger when I place it against her hand.

"I want a bairn, Rosie," I say aloud, and Edward sniggers as Rosie's head snaps in my direction, surprise flaring in her violet eyes.

"Well, we'll have to work on that," she winks.

"Aye, that will be such a chore," I smirk, grinning at my wife.

Bella laughs softly, tiredness evident in her every movement.

"Ought we go?" I ask Edward, concerned by Bella's fatigue. Twenty-eight hours of labour sounds fucking awful, but she's still managing to smile and laugh. He looks at his wife, pride written all over his face as he sweeps her hair back from her sleepy face.

"That's up to you, sweet girl," he murmurs, his fingers twining with hers.

"It's fine, Em," she smiles. "Clara will need to feed again soon, so I'm not going to be able to sleep just yet, anyway."

I catch Edward's smirk and Bella's blush, and I wonder what joke I've missed. Feeding the wee bairn? Oh. Aye, I can see how the lad finds the thought of that appealing, though there's clearly a private joke being shared. I shake my head at him as he climbs into the narrow hospital bed beside Bella, his arms encircling her shoulders as he pulls her back against his chest. Bella's eyes flutter closed almost immediately.

"Och, so much for not being able to sleep yet," Rose smiles.

"She's exhausted," Edward murmurs softly as he strokes Bella's cheek carefully. "I don't think I've been in such awe of her as I am today. She's amazing."

Rose smiles fondly at Edward, and I wonder if she, too, is cataloguing the changes we've seen in Edward over the last decade; the joy that radiates from him right now is so forceful, it is almost a corporeal presence in the room. I look back down at the wee babe in her bundle of blankets, her purpley eyes still unfocused as I rock her gently.

"I want to hold my goddaughter now," Rose informs me, sweeping little Clara out of my arms. I smile as I watch my wife's slender fingers caress the child's cheeks while she coos at her quietly.

"I think she'll look like Bella, but with your colouring," she decides. When Edward doesn't respond immediately, I look away from the child in Rose's arms to where my mate sits. He, too, is asleep; Bella curled in his arms, his cheek pressed against the top of her head. I study his face carefully; the black circles under his eyes reminding me forcefully of very different day, nearly ten years ago.

I collapse into a chair beside the bed, the weight of my memories pressing down on me.

"You alright, lovey?" Rosie asks, softly, concern lacing her tone.

"Yeah. Just remembering shit."

"Ah," she sighs. "A lot has changed in ten years, hasn't it?"

"Aye."

"You know he says it's all on account of you, Em."

"What?"

"Bella told me. He told her that you saved his life that night."

* * *

><p><strong>February 2006.<strong>

_It's cold in London, rain and snow making the traffic abominable. I shoot Rosie a quick text as I huddle in the bus shelter, checking how her classes are going. She doesn't reply, so I guess she's still busy with it. _

_I yawn, leaning against the frigid shelter, trying to rub the tiredness out of my eyes. We've had too many late nights this week, following Edward through pubs and clubs across the city. I honestly don't know how he does it; working all day teaching guitar lessons, and then pissing up all night. _

_I sigh and shake my head; that's not true, I know exactly how he's doing it, and I just don't know how to confront him about it. I'm such a fucking pussy. Edward's the closest thing I've got to a brother and I'm standing by, watching him self-destruct. I've stood by for too long, watching him drink and snort his life away. He'd saved enough to record his album, but I wouldn't be surprised if he'd shoved most of that cash up his nose in the last few months._

_I mean, I'm not a complete bloody idiot; I know lots of young chaps spend all their time chasing booze, drugs and women, but it just seems so out of character for Edward. When we first met, he was this quiet, sensitive lad, and you'd rarely see him without a guitar in his hands, or headphones in his ears. Music was everything to him; his home, his sanctuary. But lately, I don't know. I can't remember the last time I heard him tinker with his guitar, or compose a new song. Hell, I can't even remember the last time he bought a new record. Instead of dragging us to open mic nights several times a week, Rosie and I have been following him as he bar hops across the city; too terrified to let him head out on his own._

_I wondered for a time, if it was just something about being a creative type. I mean, we're tight, but I've never really understood him completely; the black moods, the bouts of creativity that keep him up all night and make him forget basic needs like eating and bathing. I wondered if he just had whatever musicians call their equivalent of writer's block, and was trying anything he could think of to throw it off._

_But still, that doesn't make sense of the number of lasses that have been scurrying out of our apartment with the dawn. That's just irreconcilable with Edward's nature: the lad's the biggest romantic I know. Every time I've tried to set him up previously, he's smiled softly, shaken his head, and told me in his quiet away that when he meets his soul mate, he'll know it. And yet now, he's sleeping with any random woman who propositions him? _

_And then there are the days, weeks occasionally, in which he simply doesn't leave his bed. He doesn't drink, or smoke, or … well, he doesn't do anything. I'm not even sure he knows we're aware of it; he seems not to hear when we come checking on him. It doesn't last, after a few days, he'll drag himself into the shower, and everything continues on as it always has._

_The only conclusion I can come to, is that there's something seriously wrong with the lad's mind, and guilt hits me like a ton of bricks: someone needs to confront him about it. I could call his old man, I suppose. Carlisle's a pretty great guy, and he's a good father. But I know instinctively that's just me copping out. I need to man the fuck up and try to break down some of the walls Edward's been building around himself._

_When the bus finally arrives, I sigh in relief as I step out of the bitter cold. I need to confront my mate soon. I've been pussy-footing around, unwilling to upset him, but this shit has got to stop, before he ends up overdosing or drinking himself to death._

_The second I step off the bus, unease clenches in my stomach. I try to shake it off, chastising myself for being such a fucking coward. By the time I'm sliding my key into the lock on our apartment door, my hands are shaking and I'm sweating, despite the frosty London winter. Swearing at myself, I finally manage to wrench the door open. Terror grabs me by the throat, making it difficult to breathe._

_Something is seriously wrong. I don't know how I know it, but I do._

_Without hesitation, I make my way down the hall, ignoring Rosie and my open door, and throwing open Edward's. The sight before me brings me to my knees._

_Edward is clearly completely and utterly wasted; the green of his eyes is barely visible, his pupils are so dilated. His weird bronze coloured hair is filthy, matted and oily, and he clearly hasn't shaved in about a month. The room stinks of sweat, pot and stale beer, and is suffocatingly warm. He's slumped on the floor by his bed, completely unaware of my intrusion as he tries in vain to focus on the syringe in his hands._

_Fuck._

_Without thinking, I'm on my feet. Grabbing him by the upper arms, I drag him to his feet. He doesn't even blink; he's so fucked up he's probably got no idea what's happening. The syringe drops to the floor and the sight of it makes anger boil in my veins. Unthinkingly, but desperate to get through to him in any way, I smash my fist into the side of his head. _

_Edward's head lolls immediately as my fist sends him into unconsciousness. I feel slightly guilty, but fucked as he is, I probably only hastened the inevitable. Carefully, I gather him up into my arms; painfully aware of the fact he's probably a good fifteen kilograms lighter than he ought to be. Sidestepping the drug paraphernalia, I carry him out to the living room, carefully placing him on the beat up couch, and tucking a cushion behind his head._

_Making my way back into his bedroom, I'm relieved that he's clearly been unsuccessful in using what I suspect is heroin. Grabbing the hypodermic, I squirt the liquid into the toilet bowl, flushing it immediately. I wrap the syringe and needle in a dishcloth and throw it into the rubbish, making a mental note to empty the bins as soon as possible. Doing a quick search, I find a few pills and a little bag of pot in Edward's desk, and they go the same way as the heroin. I've no idea if flushing this shit is a good idea; all I know is that I want it out of my house immediately. _

_Edward is still unconscious on the couch, and I force myself to roll his sleeves up, to double-check my initial assumption that I managed to find him before he shot up. His elbows are unmarked, and a sigh of relief escapes me. I grab one of Rosie's throw blankets and cover Edward carefully, my fingers seeking out his pulse on his neck. It's steady and strong, thankfully._

_When Edward is still unconscious two hours later, I'm beginning to panic; unsure as to whether he's asleep or in some real danger. The click of the lock tells me Rosie is home, and I am on my feet immediately, embracing her fiercely._

"_What's going on, Em?" she murmurs, frowning as she observes my shaking hands._

_Wordlessly, I look to the couch, where Edward is laid out, his face pale and filthy. Rosalie's gaze follows my own, and she swears softly under her breath._

"_What happened?"_

"_I, uh, I came home and I don't know, Rose. It sounds fucking mental, but I just knew something was wrong. I don't know why, but I went in to check on him, and shit … I found him trying to shoot up, love. Heroin, I think. Stupid bloody idiot was so fucking drunk he couldn't figure out how to do it though, thankfully."_

"_Shit," Rose murmurs. "I knew things weren't right, but I had no idea they were that bad."_

"_I, uh, I punched him, Rosie. I didn't know what else to do, and he's, fuck, he's been out cold for about two hours now."_

_Rose nods sympathetically, pulling me into her arms and holding me tight. She doesn't comment on the shakes and tremors that wrack my body, simply holding me close as I fight the tears that threaten to fall._

"_We should probably get him to a hospital," I mutter._

"_We'll call, Carlisle, okay?" she murmurs, stroking my cheek gently._

_Carlisle arrives within the hour; by some act of mercy he was in already London, interviewing for a position in one of the hospitals. As soon as he catches sight of his son, his ever-calm face falls, and tears begin to stream down his face. _

"_I knew he wasn't doing so well," he chokes, "but I had no idea things were so bad."_

"_Neither did we," Rose murmurs, her voice soothing. "He barely speaks at all these days."_

"_Do we need to take him to a hospital?" I murmur. I'm terrified that I've caused him some kind of permanent injury. The fear that I've done my best friend serious harm is paralyzing._

_Carlisle examines his son carefully, checking his pulse, his blood pressure and carefully prying open his eyes to examine his pupils._

"_He'll be okay, Emmett," he says softly. "I would suspect he's actually just sleeping off the alcohol."_

_I nod, relief surging through me. My knees give out, and I collapse into an armchair, my head in my hands._

"_Carlisle, we'll take care of him, alright?" Rose's voice is gentle, but forceful. "You should go home to Esme and Katie."_

"_No, no. I ought to stay," he mutters, wringing his hands in a gesture that calls Edward to mind._

"_We'll call you if anything changes, Carlisle," Rose insists. "You head home, alright? If he's just sleeping, we can take care of him."_

_Carlisle sighs heavily, torn between his eldest son, and the family that needs him at home._

"_We'll call, Carlisle, as soon as anything changes, or as soon as he wakes up."_

_Carlisle leaves reluctantly, his face white with stress. He's aged a decade in the space of an hour._

_The next eight hours are the longest of my life. Each second seems to drag by, as I stare at the almost unrecognizable face of my best mate. Eventually, I grab up a washcloth and carefully wipe his face clean, gently removing the dirt and grime that have gathered on his cheeks and brow. It doesn't do much, but there's not much else I can do to clean him up. I don't really think I could deal with stripping him and changing him._

_Rosie forces a sandwich into my hands at some point, and a cup of tea a while later._

_Well after midnight, I send Rosalie to bed. She kisses me softly before she retires, understanding that nothing will drag me from Edward's side tonight._

_At around three in the morning, Edward stirs slightly, turning his head and groaning, before he falls silent again._

_Thirty minutes later, he's weeping in his sleep. At least, I think he's asleep; he doesn't respond to my gentle questions._

_An hour after that, he sits up abruptly, disoriented. He looks at me, and I can see the emotions flit across his face: confusion, comprehension, panic, and despair._

"_I'm sorry," he mutters, his voice hoarse._

"_So am I," I sigh, my head in my hands. "But, I think, Edward, you owe me an explanation. No more bullshit, mate. What the fuck is going on with you?" I try to keep the accusations out of my tone, wanting him to feel he can open up without me condemning him._

"_I don't know," he whispers. _

"_Bullshit."_

"_No, Em, I'm serious. I, uh, I don't know what's wrong. I mean, there's really nothing wrong."_

"_Lad," I sigh, struggling for patience. "You don't live the way you've been living if nothing's wrong. I'm not going to judge you for it, but please, mate, just tell me the truth."_

"_There's nothing_ wrong_, really." I shake my head in disgust at his insistence. "No, please, let me finish Em. There's nothing I can identify anyway. Nothing's wrong, but nothing is right. Fuck, if I knew what was wrong, I'd be trying to fix it. But for about a year now, I've just felt … empty. So empty, it's almost a physical ache. I mean, I'm not, uh, thinking about killing myself, or anything, Em, but I just … I just don't want to live any more. I don't have the fucking energy to get out of bed most of the time. Sometimes I don't. It's just too exhausting trying to make it through yet another day. Everything is ugly. Music is ugly now. I can't stand the sounds my guitar makes, they seem so discordant. I just … I don't know. I feel so bloody empty. All the fucking time."_

"_So the drugs and the drinking and the women?"_

"_You know about that?" he asks quietly, shame written in the lies of his face._

"_Yeah, mate. I know about that. I'm not judging you, a'ight, I'm trying to understand what's going on."_

"_I don't know, Em. It, well, it numbs the pain. The drugs, the alcohol, they make me forget how hard it is to breathe, to get through each day. It never works though," he sighs. "If anything, it just makes it worse by the time I sober up. But I don't know what else to do, yeah?" _

"_And the girls?"_

"_It's the same thing. That small moment in time when it doesn't hurt so much in here," he mutters, banging his chest. "I know I can't live like this any more Emmett, but nothing's working, nothing helps, nothing makes the emptiness go away."_

_At this, Edward begins to sob softly, the broken noise that rips from his chest tearing at my heart. My own cheeks are wet with tears, and I resist the urge to brush them away hastily. I want Edward to see that I'm accepting the way he's feeling, that though I don't really understand, I'm not going to walk away from him._

"_I'm taking you to see a doctor in the morning, lad." I warn him. "And I'm going to make you an appointment to see a psychiatrist. I have no fucking idea about this kind of stuff, mate, but I dunno, it sounds like you might be, like manic depressive or bipolar or something."_

_Edward's only response is a slight nod of his head._

"_You're okay with that?" I ask quietly, slightly surprised by his easy acquiescence._

"_Em," he sighs, brushing the tears from his cheeks. "At this point, I'll do fucking anything you ask, if it means I can find a way to stop feeling like this. It's crushing me. I can't keep going like this. I just … I just can't."_

* * *

><p>"I don't know about saving his life, Rosie," I sigh, dragging myself out of my memories. "But I do remember the sheer relief I felt when the meds they put him on started kicking in. I didn't think I'd ever feel such joy and relief as I did at hearing the notes of <em>Greensleeves<em> coming from our apartment that afternoon in July."

Rosie chuckles softly at the memory. We had been in class together, and hearing the music coming from the apartment, we were too overjoyed to disturb him, so we sat on our own doorstop, listening to Edward pluck out the traditional melody on the guitar we'd given him for his birthday a few weeks earlier.

Little Clara suddenly lets out a shrill wail, and I can't help but laugh at the expression on Rose's face.

"Bloody hell. That's a big noise from such a little body," she giggles.

Edward's eyes snap open at Clara's second wail, and though he is clearly exhausted, he smiles at the sound.

"I think she's getting hungry," he chuckles. Extricating himself from Bella, he slips out of the cot, his arms outstretched. Rose hands him his daughter, and I can see the unshed tears gathering in her eyes as she watches him cradle his tiny babe.

Edward looks back at his wife, his eyes soft as he watches her continue to sleep.

The baby lets out a quiet cry, diverting Edward's attention. Humming softly to soothe Clara, he presses his lips to her perfect little forehead. She quiets for a moment, as he sings softly to her, bouncing her gently in his arms.

"How does it feel, Edward?" I ask, "Being a Dad?"

Edward looks down at his little girl, pondering the question.

"Terrifying. Amazing. Overwhelming. I dunno, Em, I'm not sure it's fully sunk in. Bella and I, we made a little person, you know? That's insane, yeah? And I know Bella's going to be the most amazing Mum, but I'm terrified I'll fuck up or something; that I'll be a lousy father. But at the same time, I just … I don't have the words to explain how utterly joyful I feel."

Clara begins to fuss again, and Edward resumes his soft singing as he cradles her carefully.

I watch, my heart full of very weird warm and fuzzy feelings, as Bella's eyes open slowly. She says nothing as her gaze falls on her husband, whose back is turned as he croons to their daughter. I pretend not to notice the tears that slide down her cheeks, feeling as though I'm intruding on something incredibly intimate and private.

Within a few minutes, Clara's cries will no longer be soothed by her Da's voice, and he turns, a look of surprise crossing his face as he sees Bella is awake.

"Did you write her a song, love?" she smiles.

"Part of one," Edward smiles, passing the tiny bundle to his wife.

Rose jumps to her feet and grabs my hand, telling Bella that we're going to grab some coffee. Surprised, I follow her slowly.

"What was that about?" I hear Bella murmur.

"I think they're trying to give you some privacy so you can nurse Clara, sweet girl."

I grin at Rose, who merely smirks in response as we continue to wander away from the maternity wing. I can hear Bella respond, but I can't make out what she says, though it's followed by Edward's deep chuckle.

I pause in the hallway, sneaking another glance over my shoulder. Bella is cradling the babe in the crook of one elbow as she nurses her. Edward leans in, tucking her hair behind her ear and pressing a tender kiss to her cheek, then another to her lips as she turns her face toward him. As he pulls back, Bella raises her free hand and gently caresses his jaw. The smile she offers him is one that I'm sure I will never forget; the hope and joy sparking her eyes as she looks up at him is so incredibly powerful, it takes my breath away.

* * *

><p><strong>Honestly, I've no idea where "Clara" came from; but it just came out on the page and I knew that's what she HAD to be called. <strong>

**Hope you enjoyed this.**

**Love, Shell xx **


	35. Outtake 2: June 2012

**OT #2. June 2012: Edward.**

**A/N: This is the out-take that was most requested: Edward's point of view of their first time together. I didn't want to write this unless I thought it could bring something more to the story, so it took me a long time to figure out how I wanted to frame this.**

**I really hope you enjoy it.**

**A song: **_**These Boats**_**, by Bobby Long. It's my most favourite. Ever.**

* * *

><p>"Edward, hun, are you almost ready to go?" Bella's voice rings through my apartment as she lets herself in. I'm immediately aware of the slight edge to her voice; she's nervous, but why?<p>

"Yeah, almost, sweet girl. Oh, love, do I need to wear a tie?"

Bella appears in the doorway, her dark eyes sweeping over me quickly. I catch the spark of lust in her eyes, and I smirk cockily. I've never felt particularly handsome; I know I don't usually make sufficient effort with my personal grooming to fall into that category, but the way Bella looks at me makes me puff up slightly with pride.

"I don't think so," she murmurs as she crosses the room quickly.

"You look beautiful, Bella" I tell her, my breath catching. She's stunning, truly, in a sleeveless dress of deep purple that cinches at her waist and flows gently to her knees. Her dark hair is gathered over one shoulder, and I notice with relief that she's forgone lipstick. My lips seek out hers immediately, trying to express the adoration and love I have for her with each gentle kiss.

She pulls back, giggling.

"I didn't put this on yet, in the hope you'd do that," she grins, holding up a tube of lipstick.

"Well, if you're going to put that on, I'm going to need another kiss first," I tell her seriously.

She smiles and rolls her pretty brown eyes, but immediately tilts her face to receive my kiss. Our playfulness quickly escalates to passion as our lips dance and tongues share gentle caresses. Bella hums softly, and I answer with a groan, my hands seeking out her waist and pulling her closer. When I finally release her mouth in order to take a breath, my sweet girl quickly takes a step back, her cheeks colouring.

"We can't go to dinner all mussed up, Edward," she chuckles, the nervous edge to her voice returning.

I pretend to pout and she laughs at me, making her way to my bathroom. I trail after her, watching as she carefully applies the vibrant red colour to her pretty mouth. She catches me watching her, smiling at my reflection as it hovers behind her.

"I like this," she tells me, turning to face me, and indicating the white button down and charcoal blazer.

"Uh, thanks," I mutter. "Are you sure jeans are okay, sweet girl?" I check, indicating the dark denim on my legs. Whilst I'm more comfortable dressing casually, I don't want to embarrass Bella if we're going somewhere swanky.

"Definitely," she smirks. Her slender fingers cup my cheek, before moving to trace my jaw, and she sighs softly. My girl can't keep her hands off my face when I'm clean-shaven. I don't understand it, but I'll never ever complain about having her hands on me. I capture one of her hands and bring it to my lips.

"I love you, Bella."

"I love you too, Edward," she smiles. "Happy Birthday, baby."

I can't help but smile at her term of endearment: she doesn't use it often, but I do love it when she does.

"We should go," she sighs. I hear the nervousness in her tone, and I wonder whether I ought to call her out on it. I study her as she fidgets with her dress, and begins twirling a strand of dark hair around one of her fingers. I decide to let it go for now. Perhaps she's just nervous about a gift she's planning on giving me. I offer her my arm, and she laughs her sweet laugh as she links her arm with mine.

* * *

><p>We enter the restaurant hand in hand, and the cause of Bella's nervousness becomes apparent immediately.<p>

"Edward! Edward! Surprise! Happy birthday!" My sister launches herself at me with her usual brand of overwhelming enthusiasm. I take a quick step to the side to protect Bella from my sister's violent embrace.

"Hey Katie, it's so good to see you," I smile, kissing her cheek gently. Bella catches my eye as I hug my sister, her shy smile speaking volumes.

"You planned this?" I ask her over my sister's shoulder. She nods, her sweet blush spreading across her cheeks.

"Katie, let the boy go! Oh, Edward, lovey, look at you. Happy birthday, son!"

"Hi Mum," I kiss my Mum's familiar cheek as she pulls me into her embrace.

Katie's excited chatter continues as I shake hands with my Dad, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Oh, lovey, look at you! Ooh, you're just adorable. I love this dress! Gorgeous. Eddie, I love her. Marry this one, yeah? Then move back to London and make beautiful babies, and I can be your nanny, yeah? Auntie Katie, I like the sound of that!" I pull back from my Dad, trying to catch my sister's eye as she continues to babble. Bella's cheeks transform from petal pink to scarlet as my sister's animated babble continues.

"Oh, and look at you, Edward, goodness me, I can see your face! Lovey, I love you even more for managing to get my brother to shave. I don't think I've seen him clean-shaven since I started kindergarten!"

"Katie –" Mum chastises her.

I wrap my arm around Bella's waist, pulling her close. I feel her relax slightly at the contact, and it thrills me, knowing that my presence eases her nerves.

"Oh hush, Mummy, it's alright. Bella's going to be family. Can't you see it? Look at them," she smirks, gesturing at the two of us. "Watch the way they look at each other. They have forever written all over their faces."

"Katie, love. Settle down." Dad reprimands my sister gently, and she pouts, winking at Bella, who smiles, ducking her head. Not wanting Bella to feel uncomfortable, I clear my throat, and introduce her to my parents, in person, finally.

"Mum, Dad, this is my girlfriend, Bella Swan. Bella, this is my mum, Esme, and my dad, Carlisle."

Mum beams at the two of us she pulls Bella out of my arms and into her own, greeting her gently. Dad winks at me as he too hugs my girl briefly, kissing her cheek softly.

"It's so wonderful to finally meet you face to face, Bella," Mum smiles. "We've heard so much about you for so long now."

"It's lovely to meet you in person, Mrs Cullen," Bella replies, her soft voice filled with genuine warmth.

"Please, sweet girl, call me Esme."

Katie chatters away with the hostess, and before long we are seated, sipping champagne and perusing the menu. Katie pouts a little about the fact that she's not permitted to imbibe, but she quickly forgets her pique, chatting animatedly with Bella.

My heart thumps wildly in my chest as I watch Bella charm my family. The sweet girl, of course, is completely oblivious to the effect she has on people. She remains soft-spoken, though I can see her blossoming as my family sets her at ease with their delighted acceptance of her presence in my life. Mum and Katie bombard her with questions about her upbringing and her plans for the future, but thankfully avoid mentioning Bella's marriage to Jacob.

The girls barely touch their meals as they continue to chatter, until finally I put my foot down, noticing that Bella has tried three times to put the same forkful of food in her mouth, and has each time had to pause to answer another question.

"Mum, Katie. Enough. You'll have years to ask Bella all the questions you want, but please, let her eat her dinner."

Mum beams at my declaration, and Bella squeezes my knee in thanks as she finally manages to consume a few bites of her meal.

"Years?" My head snaps up to meet my Dad's steel blue eyes at his quiet question.

"Years," I confirm. "I'm never letting her go, Dad. I couldn't. I love her. I thought I'd have to spend my life watching her love someone else, and now that I know she loves me …" I shake my head, unable to find the words to articulate the overwhelming joy and completeness I feel knowing I have Bella's affection.

Dad looks at me thoughtfully, and I can feel myself bristling at his appraisal. His gaze drifts to Bella, watching as she talks and laughs with Mum and Esme. She's relaxed completely now, thanks to Mum and Katie's obvious interest in getting to know her, and you'd never know she's only spoken to them once previously, and that through a computer screen. Actually … she must have spoken to them in order to set up this surprise for me. My heart swells with love and wonder as I realize my shy, sweet Bella has called up my family to arrange their visit to the States. I know how difficult Bella would have found making that call, and that she would put herself through that discomfort for my sake … she's amazing.

"She's amazing," Dad murmurs, his soft-spoken words echoing my thoughts.

"I know," I agree, reluctantly dragging my eyes from Bella and back to my Dad's face.

"Your sister knows nothing of forever, Edward, but she's right."

"I know."

Dad sighs, pushing back in his chair and rolling his eyes playfully as the three girls excuse themselves to use the powder room. I'll never understand why using the bathroom is such a social event for women.

"I remember the first time you told us about Bella … and her … situation … you know?"

I nod, remembering the few weeks I'd had to spend in London sorting out my visas and signing with my label in March last year. It was absolute agony, being away from Bella for that period of time, knowing the hell she was dealing with back at home: battling both depression and an abusive husband.

* * *

><p><strong>March 2011: London<strong>

"Edward, can we talk?"

I slide into the chair at my parents' kitchen table, where Mum and Dad are seated, watching me expectantly.

"Sure, Mum. What's up?"

"Sweetheart, I'm worried about you. There's something going on with you that I can't understand. I've been watching you this week, son, and there have been times that I've seen this … transcendent joy overtaking your features whilst you're thinking, and other times, it's sheer and utter despair. Is there something you want to talk to us about, love?" Mum's green eyes are filled with concern as she watches me struggle to answer her.

"You know we'll support you through anything, Edward," Dad adds gently.

I nod my head, sighing as I try to formulate my explanation.

"Last year, I met this girl at one of my shows …" I begin. Mum smiles slightly, but her expression saddens as she watches me tug at my hair in frustration. "She's amazing, yeah? She's beautiful, and she's so sweet and kind and selfless, and she loves my music and I can talk to her about anything." I stress the final word, and Dad nods, understanding that I mean she's aware of my battle with depression.

"I love her. Deeply. More deeply than I ever thought it was possible to love another person."

"But?" Mum prompts gently.

"She's married, Mum." Mum and Dad's shocked expressions are exactly what I expect, but I raise my hand to silently beg them to let me finish.

"Please, please, let me finish. If she was happily married, I could deal with it. I love her enough that, though it would be excruciating, I just want her to be happy. I could walk away, knowing that she's loved and treasured and cared for, even if it isn't me who's able to give her that." I swallow harshly, trying to fight the tears that threaten to spill over.

"But, she's not. She's married to this absolute dickhead –"

"Edward," Dad's voice is laden with warning, and I shake my head at him.

"He's abusive, Dad. Not physically, he doesn't hit her or anything, but he's just, excuse me, Mum, but he's fucking awful. He manipulates her and he essentially treats her as his live-in maid service, and she's really struggling with depression at the moment, and … fuck … " I trail off, unable to continue to speak with the lump that's developing in my throat.

"Listen, Edward, son. You have to be careful. I'm sure she seems lovely, but has it occurred to you that she's actually manipulating you? That she's not just using you –" Dad cuts himself off as he processes the murderous expression on my face.

"Edward, dearest, I hate to say it, but your Dad's right –"

"Enough." My voice is surprisingly calm for all the emotion I'm trying to hold at bay. "Just, let me explain. Please."

Mum and Dad nod warily, and I sigh before I start to speak.

"I knew Bella was married before I met her, a'ight? She came and saw me play in Portland, and Leah met her there. And then she came to see me again in Seattle, and Leah convinced her to introduce herself to me. We just clicked, yeah? We spent hours talking; we talked about music and politics and poetry … everything. We kept in touch via email and the occasional phone call as I toured, and it was only a matter of weeks before I considered her one of my closest friends. To be honest, I fell in love with her almost immediately, but I knew I could never do anything about it. She was already married, and I made a conscious decision to never put her in a position that would make her feel uncomfortable, or to make her feel as though she had to choose between her marriage, and our friendship."

I take a sip of my rapidly cooling tea before I continue.

"I knew things with her husband weren't great, but she never really talked about it too much. She never complained; it was just things she'd let slip that I picked up on. Little things, like him not letting her do something that she really wanted to. But I was more concerned about her mental health, to be honest. She started spiraling downward really quickly, and I was really worried. I told her about my own depression – all about it, my self-medicating, everything. And it became pretty clear to me that she was quite severely depressed. Rose was pretty certain her depression was related to Jake being an arse, but …" I shrug. "Bella finally confessed everything to me whilst I was in Pittsburgh. About how nasty and spiteful he is, how he treats her as his personal cleaner and cook and sex toy, and the awful names he calls her. I realized immediately that it was emotional abuse, but I just let her talk, and I kept telling her that she's not lazy, or useless or pathetic, but that she's amazing, and strong, and precious, and so, so special."

"And then, Leah, Emmett, Rose and I met him, just before Christmas. He's a bloody tool, truly; it took ever bit of self-control I possess not to punch him in the face at the way he belittled Bella in front of us all. Emmett was the same; he wanted to … uh … relieve him of his testicles." I can see Mum and Dad's skepticism morph into concern as I speak, particularly as they realize Rose and Em are able to confirm what I'm saying.

"I don't know what to do, you know? I don't know whether to tell her to leave him, and I'm terrified his abuse will become physical. It infuriates me. Bella's amazing. She's the most precious creature I've ever known, and I want to give her the world; I'd do anything to make her smile, but Jake, he just doesn't see. He's a fool, and he wants to keep her caged, and downtrodden. It's awful."

"Oh, Edward."

"That's why you asked about a referral for a psychiatrist then?" Dad asks quietly.

"Yeah," I nod. "I've always been grateful for what Em did for me; so I made an appointment for Bella, and I've been going with her to every appointment for the last few months. The doctor started her on anti-depressants last month, and they've helped her a lot. But, she's still got to go home and face Jacob every day, and it just crushes me, knowing how he takes her for granted."

I take in the concern in Dad's grey blue eyes, and the sadness in Mum's green ones, and the tears I've been valiantly willing away will no longer be contained. Hot, salty water streaks down my face as I sit in my parents' kitchen, confessing to them that another man is slowly destroying the woman I love more than my own life.

* * *

><p>"I couldn't see how things would possibly work out for you, son," Dad's voice drags me back into the present with a jolt. "To be honest, for months I waited for a call from Emmett to tell me you'd crashed again. I didn't understand how you could do it; how you could spend time with her, loving her as you did, knowing that she was married to another."<p>

"How could I not, Dad? How could I not take whatever she could spare me?"

Dad nods his understanding.

"I get it, now, Edward. Truly, and I'm so sorry I ever doubted you."

"It's fine," I shrug. "It was a fucked up situation."

Dad frowns at my expletive, but sighs again, tugging at his own hair.

"You two seem truly happy together, son. I'm delighted for you. Bella quite clearly adores you, and I can see how deeply you treasure her. It strikes me as quite wretched to delight in the death of another human being, but I can't help but be grateful that you have this chance to love her as she deserves."

Mum, Katie and Bella are making their way back to the table, and I notice the way my mother's hand gently clasps Bella's.

"Well, I think your mother approves," Dad murmurs, his lips twitching. I smile easily; I had no concerns that Mum and Dad would disapprove of Bella. I knew my girl would effortlessly draw them to herself. She's selfless and tenderhearted, gentle and kind; there's absolutely nothing to dislike about her.

* * *

><p>After dinner, Bella and I farewell Mum and Dad, making plans to see them later in the week. They're here for a little over a week before they fly back to London, and an idea starts forming in my mind. I make a mental note to check Bella hasn't made any plans for her summer break. I don't think she has; I wonder if she'd like to see London in July…?<p>

Bella links her fingers with mine as we wader back toward our apartments; her little body vibrating with nerves or excitement once again. I decide to distract her, pressing her against the door of her apartment as soon as we are inside, and kissing her soundly. Her little whimpers and moans drive me wild and I groan deeply as she wriggles out of my grasp, a cheeky grin stretching her full lips.

"Sit," she says, pointing at her couch. I shrug out of my blazer, and then strip out of my button down, leaving only the white v-neck tee-shirt, before I obey her command. I grin expectantly as I wait for my girl to come back to me.

A few minutes later, she pokes her head out of her doorway, and I can see she has changed out of her pretty dress into more casual clothes.

"Edward? I need you to close your eyes, alright? And no cheating!"

I wink at her before clapping my hands over my eyes like a five year old playing hide-and-go-seek. Bella's silvery laugh swirls around me as I wait for her approach. Something heavy is placed across my lap, but I wait for Bella's assurance that I can open my eyes before I remove my hands from my face.

Looking down, I laugh exultantly as I realize exactly what lies across my lap. Unbuckling the case catches quickly; I suck in a deep breath as my eyes caress the beautiful curves of a Hofner J17 Cutaway Archtop. Bella giggles delightedly at my open-mouthed appraisal of the exquisite instrument she's chosen for me. I grab her hand and pull her close, kissing her fiercely for her thoughtfulness, before my fingers seek out the tuning pegs of my new guitar.

When Bella yanks the guitar out of my grip several songs later, I gape at her in protest.

"Bella, love? What –"

"My love, I wasn't done giving you your gifts. I knew I should have given you that one tomorrow," Bella giggles as I pout, looking at the beautiful instrument she's confiscated from my grasp.

"It's all yours, Edward, you can play later, okay?"

"Fine," I huff, feigning petulance. "Well, come on then … presents!"

Bella smiles nervously, and I pull her into my lap, puzzled by her sudden shyness.

"You're nervous, sweet girl," I murmur, as I trail kisses up her graceful neck. "Why?"

Bella gently presses her lips to mine, but pulls back quickly. She looks at her hands as she speaks, her words tumbling out in a rush.

"I, uh, I did something, Edward. For you. Well, for me too. And it's not really a new gift, I suppose, it's more just my way of showing what's already true. And, I, yeah … I'm nervous as hell, that you'll think it's too soon, but I know with utter certainty that my feelings will never change, well, they will change but only in the sense that they'll get deeper and stronger … And I'm babbling, because I'm nervous. Just, just let me show you and don't freak out, okay?"

I watch her carefully for a moment, trying to process her words. I have no idea what she's talking about, but there's not a chance anything she's done could cause me to freak out. I love her, I want forever with her, and nothing will change that.

"A'ight, love, let's see it then?" I wink at her, hoping to elicit another of her lovely giggles. I succeed.

My smile quickly becomes a frown as Bella starts unbuttoning her blouse. Capturing her wrists, I halt her progress, and she returns my frown.

"Love –"

"Edward," she sighs.

Feeling like a right git for ruining her plans, I sigh, dropping my hands.

"By all means, love, go ahead," I wink, and Bella shakes her head at me.

"I borrowed the words from you, hun. I, uh –" she breaks off, apparently at a loss for words. Carefully, she pushes her blouse to the side, revealing a small patch of black ink just above her left breast. I try to focus on the tattoo, forcing my mind away from the soft swell of her skin.

_**Edward.  
><strong>__**My life, my light, my love.**_

…

…

…

…

She …

…

Oh, Bella …

…

My Bella has inked my name over her heart. The same words I scrawled across the artwork for my CD, she has had marked indelibly into her skin.

Beautiful.

Amazing.

She's claimed herself for me.

Declared our forever.

Mine.

MINE.

"So …" Bella murmurs, and I abruptly realize my silence is making her nervous.

"It's beautiful Bella, and a little overwhelming. Seeing my name, those words, written there, graven over your heart … " I shake my head, struggling for words. "I love you, Bella, so much."

Gently, reverently, astounded and humbled, I press a slow kiss to the place where my name marks her skin.

"I love you too, Edward. My heart is yours, it always will be. Happy Birthday, hun." Bella pulls my face to her own, kissing me softly on my forehead, before gently pressing a sweet kiss to my lips. I immediately deepen the kiss, trying to express to her the depths of love that I cannot put into words right now. Bella pulls back, her chest heaving as she gasps for breath. I watch as she squares her shoulders, and I see determination crystallize in her dark eyes.

"Edward, I have one more thing I want to give you."

"What is it, love?"

"Me."

Huh?

Bella makes her intentions clear as she straddles my lap, and crashes her mouth to mine. My body responds immediately, desire and longing rapidly firing through my synapses.

Oh.

OH.

Fuck.

I respond to her demands immediately, my tongue plundering her sweet mouth, my hands moving to her hips to pull her closer. Bella's breathy moan draws a deep groan from my throat, and abruptly passionate frenzy overtakes me as my body declares its intentions.

Carefully, I lift Bella from my lap and toss her on to the couch, inserting myself between her legs as I hover over her. I look down at Bella, her dark hair spread across the leather seat, her lips swollen and her chest heaving. She's so fucking beautiful, and I still can't believe she's offering herself to me so freely. Keeping my weight on my arms, I lean forward to capture her lips again. Bella has other ideas though, and she shocks me as she abruptly pulls me down, hard, causing my elbows to buckle. She moans in approval as I collapse on to her, and I can't help the bucking of my hips as I surrender to her warmth and her desire.

As my lungs begin to burn, I reluctantly pull my lips from Bella's, panting as I desperately gulp in the oxygen I need. Bella's lips are exploring my jaw and neck and I hiss at the sensation.

"Fuck, Bella."

Needing to regain some semblance of control, I pull her hands above her head, pinning her to the couch. I devour her with my eyes, delighting in watching the swell of her exposed breasts rise and fall as she breathes heavily. I buck my hips again, just to watch her eyes flutter in pleasure and to hear the sweet moan that leaves her lips.

"Edward," she begs.

"Tell me what you want, Bella," I insist, desperate not to misunderstand exactly what she's asking, what she's giving me.

"I, ungh, I want you, Edward. I want you to, ohh, have me." She arches upward, her back bowing as she seeks out the friction her body craves. I groan my agreement, grinding into her desperately as I trail kisses down her neck, toward the sliver of torso that is exposed by her unbuttoned blouse. I release one of her hands in order to wrap her thigh around my hip. Bella begins to tug insistently on the hem of my shirt, and I pull back from her in order to remove it.

Bella sits up with me, her dark eyes following the movements of her hands as she explores my bare chest. The need snapping in her eyes is obvious, and again, I'm amazed at the way this woman makes me feel. She looks at me with such desire and lust, that I can't help but feel _desirable_, something I've never really considered myself to be.

I raise an eyebrow at her as I toy with the edges of her open blouse. Bella nods her agreement, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. Gently, carefully, I slide the blouse from her silken shoulders. Bella wiggles awkwardly, but I capture her hands before she can use her arms to shield herself from my avaricious gaze. I kiss her fingers softly, searching her eyes thoroughly.

"Are you truly ready for this, my love?"

"Yes, Edward. Please."

I nod my agreement; how could I deny her anything? I promised to trust her to know her own mind, and, as I have told her, I ache for her, desperately. I need her as much as she seems to need me. Standing up shakily, I help Bella to her feet. She frowns, confusion apparent on her lovely face.

"I'm not going to make love to you for the first time on your couch, sweet girl."

As soon as we reach her bedroom, I spin her to face the full-length mirror. I want her to see how incredibly beautiful she is to me in this moment. Bella trembles in my arms, her eyes fixed on my own. I begin to caress her exposed skin, my fingertips swirling gently across her chest. She shudders in a breath as I reach the tops of her breasts, and her eyes flutter closed.

"No, love, open your eyes: watch," I insist. I wrap my arm around her slender waist, holding her in place as my fingers continue to explore. Bella's head falls back on to my shoulder, and my lips immediately gravitate toward her exposed neck. Using my free hand, I carefully finger the clasp of her bra, watching her eyes for the slightest hint of reservation. I see none; there is only love and trust shining back at me.

Gently, I sweep the cotton away from her body, exposing her nakedness for the first time. I suck in a breath as my greedy eyes travel across her flawless flesh, drinking in her supple curves and the dusky pink of her nipples.

"You're so beautiful, Bella," I tell her, emotion making my voice shaky.

Unable to help myself, I cup her full breasts, marveling at the feel of them in my hands. My thumbs brush across her nipples, and I groan at her body's responsiveness, delighting at the way they harden at my touch. Bella lets out a gentle moan that is my undoing. Spinning her to face me, I crash my mouth down on hers, desire fueling me as I seek to consume her.

"Are you sure, Bella?" I ask again, pulling back, urgently trying to reign in my craving for her.

"Yes, Edward," she gasps. "I want you. Please. I need you. I've already given you my heart; I want you to have my body as well."

Bella, as ever, knows exactly the words I need to hear, and I feel the lump develop in my throat. A single tear, traitor that it is, escapes my eye at the sincerity and love with which she imbues her declaration. Unable to speak, I kiss her again, walking her carefully towards the bed. Tenderly, I remove our remaining clothing, my eyes fixed on Bella's. Her deep brown gaze is filled with trust and adoration, and my heart soars as I grasp the truth of Bella's words. She is my life. She has my heart, now I want to give her my body as well.

My fingertips explore her body carefully, lovingly, learning how to play her music: learning how to draw breathy moans, squeals of delight, mewls of need and shudders of pleasure from her sensitive flesh. When I gently bring her to her climax, I am struck dumb by the sheer beauty of seeing her lost in ecstasy.

When her eyelids flutter open, Bella looks up at me, smiling gently as she cups my cheek.

"Love, are you sure?" I ask, one final time.

"Please."

The breathtaking joy I find in joining my body with Bella's is beyond my ability to articulate. Becoming one with her; it is beyond compare, beyond description. Though we fumble awkwardly, seeking to syncopate our rhythm, there is something transcendent about knowing that I am inside her, surrounded by her. The physical pleasure is immense, but there is a dimension to our lovemaking that is entirely new to me, and I am assaulted by emotions so overwhelming that tears begin to sting the corners of my eyes. I fight them back, desperate not to lose sight of the angel in my arms. My traitorous body dives headlong into ecstasy and bliss well before I am ready, the force with which my climax crashes over me causing me to cry out in rapture.

As I fall, I am aware that Bella is there to catch me, her gentle fingers caressing my face, her soft lips whispering sweet kisses against my mouth. When I am finally capable of speaking, I try to stammer out an abashed apology, embarrassed that I could not hold back long enough for Bella to reach her own release. Bella quickly hushes me, reminding me that we have all the time in the world to learn each other's bodies, and discover each other's secrets.

Later, as I watch Bella sleep peacefully in my arms, I allow the tears to fall. They flow fast and heavily. The months and years of my life I have spent longing for the love of this sweet girl catch up with me in a rush, as I sob silently into her hair. The salty water washes across my face, cleansing me; purifying me of the despair I no longer need bear. She is mine and I am hers, and nothing can keep me from her. There is nothing, now, that can prevent me from expressing the depths of my love and adoration of my Bella. I will love her, unceasingly, with every fibre of my being, with every breath I take, and with every beat of my heart.

* * *

><p><strong>Well, my lovelies, that's that.<strong>

**I can't express how thankful I am for every review, message and tweet I've received regarding this story. The way you have all taken this Edward and Bella into your hearts has truly humbled and amazed me. **

**Thank you.**

**I love you all so very much.**

**Shell xx**

**P.S. My new story, **_**Expectations**_**, is slowly taking shape. I had two ideas I was working on, and they were being very difficult, until I finally realized I was actually looking at the same story from two different angles. So, it's finally starting to come along nicely. I'll begin posting once I get a bit of a buffer of chapters.**

**P.P.S. I wrote a one-shot called **_**Bass Ink**_** for the Etched In Ink Fest. I'd love it if you'd check it out. You should also get over to etchedininkfest(dot)com and check out the other stories that have been submitted.**

**P.P.P.S. If you're not reading **_**Dusty**_**, you need to be. IT HURTS SO GOOD! I have rarely become as emotionally involved in a piece of fiction as I am with this one. Yellowglue and TeamBella23 are bloody amazing writers. Please read it, then fangirl with me over it. fanfiction(dot)net/s/7659651/1/Dusty**


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